


Neah the Waking Sea

by Eureka234



Series: I Was There When You Needed Me Most [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Backstory, Chant of Light, Chantry Boys, Childhood, Childhood Friends, F/M, M/M, Original Character(s), Other, Puberty, Self-Discovery, Templars (Dragon Age), Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eureka234/pseuds/Eureka234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very young and enthusiastic Raleigh Samson navigates his way through Templar initiate training, making friends, not screwing up in class and stumbling through puberty with very little to guide him besides his Chantry book.<br/>This story depicts his personal challenges and adventures from the ages of 6 to 18.<br/>Leads into "Once we Were" and "Samson's Shield of Shame" but it can be read standalone. </p><p>Trigger warnings and additional tags will be added with chapter updates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's a Thistle on the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Group. who helped brainstorm what Templar Training might be like. Also to Anla'shok for her constructive criticism, which has lead me to revise the chapters slightly. She writes in the Hunger Games fandom.
> 
> This is intended to be a short fic. I swear this is the last Samson anything I could possibly write. I literally don't have anything else about his life I could write down, but for those who don't like the guy I hope mini Samson has more appeal!
> 
> If anyone hasn't read "The Least of his Children" by JayRain (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11524808/1/The-Least-of-His-Children), the origin story of her Inquisitor Theodane Trevelyan, I highly recommend it.
> 
> Reviews or constructive criticism is appreciated.

 

**PART ONE: CHANTRY INITIATES (ages 6-13)**

Samson sprawled out onto his bed, his leather satchel safely underneath, overflowing with extra clothes, a towel, soap and socks. Content with silence, he took no notice that his three layers of stretched jumpers matched the thickness of the pillow beneath his skull.

Who knew the initiate Templar dormitory was _here_ , out of Kirkwall beyond Hightown, basically nowhere?

_Did a Magister's slaves really live here?_

Samson couldn't imagine them. What did they look like? Did they start working at six years old too?

The boy had already forgotten the Magister's name, but he was important enough in Kirkwall's history that the trainer promised Samson would get tired of it soon.

"The older initiates sleep in the East Wing of the Gallows, adjacent the dungeons," another trainer had explained, "Those are not much prettier, so get used to it now and then the improvement be Andraste's embrace herself."

The place didn't have any problems. Samson already liked it. It was basically his house, but bigger and better because it had trees around it!

 _Who is going to take the other bed?_ he wondered, rolling on his side to stare. _I hope Tyler or Kenneth get it._

The brunet was too young to conceptualize the unlikeliness of being paired with his Chantry friends out of forty three children. He stretched one of his jumpers to swath his knees. They had scrapes from tumble play and the cold stung.

The insula was four stories high, almost as wide as it was tall and had the same architectural contour of Hightown estates. The bedrooms were grim, pasty and the ceiling curved in an arch. It was one of the largest places he had ever seen.

Two small windows with dark shutters, two pillars with lanterns on their pinnacle and a single rug of a dragon were the extent of the decoration. A single flame lit it, leaving the rest of the room gleaming dimly like a puddle at night. His shutter didn't close properly and left an inch gap to the open air, but he chose it on purpose. The boy liked looking outside. The surrounding foliage had a dulcet scent and he could get used to having lots of mud to squish his feet in.

He wiped his nose, which had been dribbling like a river since he'd left. The lyrium hadn't fixed it. The trainer said it wasn't the proper draught, this was only to test if he could stomach it, whatever that meant. The stomach was a part of the body. It was impossible to 'stomach' something.

Maybe the trainer was an idiot.

"It tasted like waz…" Samson mumbled to himself. It was strange to voice his thoughts aloud. The high ceiling made him sound like a girl!

And he knew what pee tasted like because whenever he smelled something he could also taste it, like his nose was his mouth. For something so pretty and blue he thought lyrium would taste like the sky. He stuck out his tongue. This _air_ was what he thought lyrium would taste like.

The dark iron door scraped open like a screeching bird.

"Ow!" Samson complained, "what the shambles is that?"

"Woooww…" awed a boy, "It echoed all the way down the hall!"

Samson immediately turned to face the door, where the kid stepped inside. More racket disrupted the silence as the door closed.

"Are you my roommate?" he asked, barely raising his head.

"I think so!" the boy said, "This is the door with the thistle flower on it." Then came the frisson of excitement, "Hey, hey! Look, I have a sword."

"Really?" Samson's exclaimed, which echoed. He rolled onto his belly.

His roommate was taller than him but of alike age. What Samson noticed was the ostentatious tunic, belt and trousers, vibrant with colour and complete with the polished boots. He removed a long pointed metal rod from his larger bag and wielded it. A sword?

Samson immediately felt jealous.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"My Dad paid one of his friends to make it for me," the boy said, pretending to stab the air. "It was a namesday present from…" he counted, "one…two… _three_ months ago. What's your name?"

"Samson Raleigh."

His names sounded better rearranged, so he didn't consider it to be a lie.

"I'm Bailey of House Ellsworth from the West District of Hightown."

The boy said it with a stout patriarchal stance. To uphold the intrepid appearance he lightly pushed the dark ash waves from his eyes, which resumed obscuring his vision as soon as they were left alone.

"Can I call you Ellsworth?" Samson requested, hoping he wouldn't have to memorize the full name.

"No!" Bailey swiped the metal so hard he almost dropped it. "Do you not have a House?"

"I have a house," Samson said.

The look on Bailey's face implied he was missing a detail.

"No… what is your family title?"

"I don't know," Samson said. He didn't care either. "Why is your name so long? Can I call you Bailey?"

"It's a title, not a name," Bailey said plainly. "Yes, I like being called by my first name. My family comes from a long line of armorers and bow makers. They export a lot to the other cities in Thedas."

"Wow," Samson said, completely gobsmacked by how prestigious it sounded.

"Where are you from, Samson?" Bailey asked.

"Lowtown." He replied.

The boy made a funny face. "I didn't think they let Lowtowners in."

"Why not?" Samson didn't think it made sense. "My mother and father gave the payment. They did it right."

"My dad said Lowtowners are dirty because they don't have much money."

Samson looked at himself. His jumpers were a little old and wearing thin, but they were well loved and comfortable.

"I'm not _dirty_ ," His voice rang with indignation.

"Then you smell."

 _I don't SMELL_ , Samson thought just as angrily, but he sniffed his clothes just in case. "It's fine."

"Really?" Bailey cautiously approached Samson like he was some contagious disease and brought his nose to Samson's sleeve. "You're right. My mum smokes witherstalk out of a fancy pipe. That's what it smells like."

"Yuck, I don't want to smell like your mother!"

Samson pushed Bailey away.

Apparently intrigued his roommate stopped with the standoffish face.

"Smell me," Bailey said, putting the pretend sword on Samson's bed.

The action was repeated. Samson took note of his roommate's thickly woven attire and liked how soft the wool was. But that wasn't the point. The kid also scented of charcoal and flowers.

"I think we smell the same."

"Really?" Bailey checked on himself again and made a fuss. "Oh no! You're right."

Samson grinned. Ellsworth had to smell like a Lowtowner, ha ha! And now Samson could pretend to be rich.

Stumping Bailey was highly amusing, not only for the Hightowner being wrong but for the unique satisfaction of knowing one didn't exude some deadly odour.

"Did you know…" he began sentences like this sometimes to seem more interesting. "My father said people from Hightown are snitches?"

It was a saying Samson cherished from his father. He heard it listening to his parents talking among each other through a wall past his bedtime, but he remembered it because he liked the word 'snitch'. His heart burnished with pride for his efficiency of hearing the near inaudible through walls.

"No, we're not!" Bailey protested, "Your dad is just making up stuff that isn't true."

Samson shrugged with a smile.

"I'm from Hightown too. See?" Samson said and he covered his mouth and pretended to vomit into it.

His roommate took a few moments to get the joke. Then he laughed like a girl, covering his mouth as though he was concealing a cough.

"Do you know anyone here?" Bailey wondered.

"Two of my Chantry friends are training too," Samson said, bringing their faces to mind, "I don't know where they are."

"Are they Lowtowners too?"

"One is," Samson said, "The other is from Darktown."

Bailey looked confused again, "How did _they_ get in here?"

Samson shrugged, not having thought about it. Why did it matter so much? Couldn't Bailey just be excited that Samson knew a few people?

"Do you know anyone?" he mumbled, trying to change the subject.

"Hendrick. He's from the West District of Hightown too," Bailey said, "Our parents saw each other a lot, so we played in the courtyard."

"A courtyard…" Samson repeated, slowly.

"We played pretend with toys."

"Oh."

More and more, Samson grew uncertain on what to say. Bailey's life seemed so different to his it… made him feel uncomfortable. He didn't know the words, nor the pictures to imagine it.

"Where is he?" Samson asked.

"When we went inside the insula, he went– yes, _that_ way – and I went this way."

Bailey pointed to each side of him to represent left and right, respectively.

Samson tried to recall, and he was certain Tyler and Kenneth had gone the opposite way too. But the Insula was very big. There were many places where one could change directions.

Maybe they could find each other.

"My friends too," Samson said, "What was on the door?"

Bailey's excitement seemed to fail, "We aren't allowed to look for them."

"Why not?"

"We'll get in trouble."

Samson did not answer. He didn't see what was wrong with looking for his friends. They didn't have anything else to do except sleep anyway, and who wanted to do that?

Besides, Bailey made him feel weird. His friends didn't.

"A leaf and a bear," Samson recalled, no longer able to remember which one corresponded to whom. Did that mean they all had their own rooms? How far away were they all to each other?

"Hendrick's had a quail," Bailey said, although he looked annoyed, "Why do you want to know?"

 _I like my friends better than you,_ Samson thought. Thankfully, he had enough sense not to say that out loud… only just enough sense. Madalyn, his one other Chantry friend, had made sure he didn't say anything too mean. He missed her too.

 _She's from Lowtown too,_ Samson thought, _but her parents didn't let her be a Templar._

The weight of Bailey's words crushed him. Was it because they didn't have enough money? The time Madalyn cried about it – he remembered, she said her parents said, 'because we said so.', which was really unfair. Samson thought her parents were just cruel. Was there a way to find out if that was true or not? Did Kenneth and Tyler know? Sometimes their brothers knew things no one else did.

"Why are you not answering?" Bailey asked, again.

"I don't know," Samson said, which was a lie – it was so annoying that he wanted Bailey to like him. He was willing to lie to be liked. Madalyn would have said that was unfair, because lying was mean. But she was wrong. Having friends was fair, even if lying was unfair. And his lie wasn't _mean_.

Maybe he would start telling the truth some other time.

Bailey crossed his arms, looking at Samson suspiciously, "You're lying or you're weird."

"I'm just weird," Samson said, glad that he was given the option. He still couldn't help wondering if he could go find his friend's rooms. Why would he get in trouble for it? It wasn't any different to speaking to Bailey. They were all initiate Templars. But if Bailey saw, Samson would get in trouble. "What do we do now?"

"We can play sword fighting?" Bailey suggested.

"I don't have a sword."

"Really?"

Was that meant to be something he had done wrong? Again, it made Samson feel strange.

"Yeah," he said. He had to think of something else, "My pillow can be a shield."

Thankfully, playing this game was fun enough to make Samson forget about finding Kenneth and Tyler . And Bailey seemed a little okay.

As he lay in bed, the questions flooded back – about Lowtown, money, and Madalyn – and, when he closed his eyes, he decided his friends were the best ones to ask.

 


	2. Do Dogs Live Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos so far! I hope you are enjoying the story. 
> 
> Thanks so much to:  
> JayRain for beta-ing and helping answer some questions for me. If you haven't read any of her work, please do (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/337275/JayRain)  
> Mille libri for her feedback. I tried to simplify the dialogue in places as suggested. I am quite fond of her Bethany fic "How to Talk to Women" (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2239242/mille-libri).

An upheaval of knocking stirred the boy from the warmth of his bed. What was the noise? Why was it getting nearer? Accosted with the unfamiliar and disconcerting, Samson snapped to his senses and gripped the sheets beneath him. He was… not in his bedroom. The ceiling was higher. In a mild delirium from the remains of sleep, he couldn't orientate himself.

A thunderous, unrelenting rhythm rolled down the hall, followed by march of boots arrived and the vibrato of the human voice, " _Lof dawn!"_

The voice was deeper than any of the children, possibly that of a teenager.

"My ears…" Samson groaned.

He rolled to his side. To his bewilderment, Bailey was already out of bed and garbed in a pale tunic and trousers. Their Chantry robes. They were laced with glimmering gold thread at the collar, woven with careful hands and a lot of concentration. Ashen light and a chill blared through Bailey's open shutter. Freezing!

"MY TOES!" Samson complained, kicking at his bed sheets like this might help.

"Wriggle into your socks! Get moving - my dad would have tickled you to death by now," his roommate explained, "there's a meeting in the domus before we have breakfast. Don't you remember Ser Lucas explaining?"

"Yeah!" Samson said, though he had forgotten the trainers name was Ser Lucas. There were four other trainers he'd met on arrival, at least. "Close your shutter then I'll get up."

The boy swore to himself that next morning he'd get dressed quicker than Bailey and open both the shutters. As he almost tripped over in the rush to catch up, a knock made the iron door reverberate like a musical instrument.

The two boys yelped in terror. The words of the song became louder as other voices joined in.

" _Andraste' bedight the ness with morning sun, Bletsian our eyes and ears oft with song, Your þeow shall wound the fyren."_

How many times was the chorus going to repeat itself? Whoever was singing was of changing the pitch with every repeating, going higher than lower, then again. It was like an army.

When the song reached their end of the insula the key was G, but Samson was too tired to appreciate it. He didn't understand how to differentiate musical notes from the other. However, he would learn. And he'd one day make his knuckles raw from banging against the doors and singing that same tune to scare the shit out of every little kid. He'd remember the morning where he thought someone was out to kill him and think he was a mentally deranged child.

Samson was too young to delight in it.

* * *

They hurried across the hundred meter stretch of grass to the domus, surrounded by thirteen other children. Everyone walked in pairs. There were vague mutters of what was awaiting them today and whose siblings could sing better. Samson felt thin and uncomfortable in the Chantry robes. They were soft but it didn't feel right without an extra two layers on top of it, despite its warmth.

Bailey hadn't spoken since they'd left. He had a strained, but determined look in his eyes.

The sky was a pleasant blue and not clouded by the smog of Darktown. Samson stared at it so much he almost bumped into someone.

The boy glanced around for his other Chantry friends, but he couldn't see them. Shambles! When would he receive a chance to talk to them? The odd chorus of song still echoed in his head in its barely comprehensible glory. He didn't know what the words meant but they reminded him of the Chantry verses his mother sung.

"What's lof mean?" Samson asked.

"It's Elvish," Bailey said, still focused ahead, "or Tevene. Something like that."

"Why?"

"Because… the slaves and riffraff," Bailey said. The words were rushed but he didn't look angry.

"Slaves are riffraff?"

This time Bailey gave the same Hightown pride from yesterday, "Didn't you know Kirkwall was made by Vints?"

Samson shrugged and felt stupid. He only knew what he'd learned about yesterday.

"What are Vints?'

The boys were about to learn that the horrible clang of an iron door was not the worst sound one could hear.

" _Maker plleeaase_!" a girl shouted, "close your big mouth!"

Samson and Bailey looked behind them with the synchronicity of dancers. A red head was stomping her slippers in the grass like they could crush skulls, her arms crossed in a possible attempt to break her own ribs. She was alongside a dark skinned, less grumpy girl. They wore gowns flourished with crimson at the bottom and were the only two females in the pack.

"I hardly got any sleep because the beds were _awful_ and you're talking like 'blah blah blah'," said the angry one.

"You shut up," Samson said at the same time Bailey whispered, "It's rude to swear."

The girl ignored him.

"Sorry about Demelza," said her roommate, "she's from Hightown."

It was though the place of one's birth somehow excused snobby attitudes, but Samson didn't think that was fair. Hope comforted him. Did that mean June was from Lowtown? Darktown? Would she not make him feel strange for not knowing words?

"The South end, thank you!" Demelza sniffed.

Samson expected Bailey to jump into the conversation with a comment from his Dad about the trustworthiness of the South end of Hightown, but he didn't. Instead there was a tug on Samson's arm and they ran toward the entrance of the domus, leaving the girls far behind.

* * *

Away from the huddle of classmates, Samson admired the full splendor of the domus. Despite only being half the height of the insula, the design was grander. The stone was a pleasant hue of cream and it was shaped like a gargantuan dog house with a smaller rectangle on top.

"Do you think a giant dog lives in there?" Samson asked, quite serious.

"A dog?" Bailey raised an eyebrow, "maybe if an apostate put magic on one."

Samson wondered how his roommate knew this.

"Do you have a pet dog?"

"No. They make my mum sneeze a lot," Bailey said sadly, a deliberate pace away from the girls, "but we have a cat."

"I don't like cats," Samson said.

"Why not?"

"There's two that ate a dead bird outside my house some mornings. I don't like how they look at me," he explained, "they keep looking and looking. It's weird!"

"Cats do that to everyone," Bailey said, "and sometimes they look at something because they find it interesting. Maybe the cat likes you."

Samson frowned and quietened his voice as they approached Ser Lucas in his full Templar armor, "I still don't like it."

* * *

Once inside the appropriate room they sat at round tables that fit four before Ser Lucas began. He was a pretty old looking man, Samson thought. He had a little bit of a beard and everyone with a beard looked old to him. A large blackboard was positioned on the wall behind him with lots of writing on it. Like the insula, the ceilings were high and shaped like an arch. Murals of Chantry people were on the walls, like Andraste and elves.

The trainer counted, agreed there was no one missing and began, "Good morning. We're right on time so you did a very good job. Well done. With another week or two your body clocks would have adjusted and it will be easier."

At least Ser Lucas didn't _sound_ old.

 _What's a body clock?_ Samson thought of asking, but everyone else was quietly waiting so he did as well.

"This group around you, assuming you pass the assessment material, are your brothers and sisters. There are two others like it in your cohort, but you are to stay in this one. You will see them far more than your blood related family, and you will work together like… I pray…. friends." He paused, with a scratch of his apparently broken nose. "You are not permitted to leave to visit parents unless under exceptional circumstances, though you are allowed to write to them. When you leave the insula there will be a few more liberties. Until then permission is necessary."

"At this time every morning starting tomorrow you will meet me outside the Chantry. You will learn the arts of the mind and the strength of the Maker through prayers." The Templar paced slowly, "Mental strength is like a muscle. The more regularly we practice and attune ourselves to the Maker's goodness, the easier life will be. Today you shall acquaintance yourselves with the premises." He gestured to some sentences on the board. "Before you learn more about one another I'd like to introduce myself."

"Boring," whispered a boy at their table, whose roommate meekly smiled.

Ser Lucas continued. "I never thought I'd want to teach. When I was twenty three one of the other trainers needed assistance because she was ill. As she'd taught me, she knew me well and let me have a turn. I found it surprisingly rewarding so once she was better from being sick I did more and more assistance… now I'm here – oh Maker, ten years? Really?" the man paused, apparently disgusted with himself. "Over the next six years you will learn to develop fortitude and endurance of your bodies and minds. I am sorry to disappoint but you will not receive armour or a sword until after that period is over, but we will make do with pretend versions."

Samson and Bailey grinned at each other. They couldn't wait to sword fight, no matter what it was with, even if it was invisible.

"Your quarters stay in the insula until you are thirteen years old. It is in your final year in the insula where you shall take in turns waking everybody up." The trainer grinned. "We keep these quarters distant from the Gallows for a number of reasons. Since there is a great focus on history and the Chant, it is far more appropriate to be situated within walking distance of the Chantry and easier to visualize the tales of which the Chant dictates. Secondly it is very rare that everybody that surrounds you right now will reach the next stage." It was like the hearts of everyone in the room halted, "and that is not to say the training is too difficult or _any_ of you are unable to do the work. My aim is to make it easy – so if there are any problems please speak to me, especially if you are not sure if it is worthy of help. I can attempt to accommodate your concerns although giving advice is outside of my authority." Samson didn't like the sound of any of these scary words, "There is one other assimilation test of the lyrium and there are usually a small few that cannot tolerate it. Some discover that this is not their path. There is no shame in that. The Maker works in mysterious ways, after all. I have spoken to a number of initiates who left and have been successful in other pursuits such as mercenary work, the City Guard, Grey Wardens, bards or Chevaliers in Orlais, even."

Samson saw a couple of others at tables were resting their heads, apparently trying to sleep.

"Please become familiar with those on your table," Ser Lucas said with more energy, "I'd like you to ask each other's names, how you heard about the Gallows and what you are looking forward about learning."

There was an immediate bustle. Samson counted four tables and confirmed without any doubt that Tyler and Kenneth were not in this group. Nooo!

"My name's Chandler Bates," said a boy with red hair and a bruise on his face, "My uncle made a joke once that he'd send me to the Gallows if I kept hiding his belts in the larder, so that's how I know about it. Aaaand…. I want to kill mages. That's what I want to learn."

"Killing mages is cruel," the tanned boy next to him said.

"No it isn't," Chandler said, "if a mage has to be killed, it means they deserve to die."

"Samson, this is Hendrick, my friend I told you about" Bailey interrupted, nodding toward Chandler's roommate.

Samson gave Hendrick a nod, though he hoped this boy wouldn't make him feel weird too.

"My brother works at the Chantry," Hendrick continued, "he said the Templars live in the Gallows. I want to learn about magic."

"My mother works in the Chantry too!" Samson said, very happy to have found a common interest. Maybe Hendrick wasn't so bad. "Does your brother know her?"

"Maybe," Hendrick said with a shrug. "What's her name?"

"Andrea," Samson replied. He knew it so well because he overheard her mother's friends say it so many times.

"I don't know," Hendrick admitted, "Your name is Samson? Do you want to be called Sam for short?"

 _Yuck,_ Samson thought, "No. I like my name how it is."

The rest of the introductions continued. Samson learned about Templars from his Chantry friends and he really wanted to learn about sword fighting. Bailey was much the same.

"Enough," Ser Lucas said, and his voice was loud enough everyone heard and immediately quietened. He pointed to the board which had more words.

While the trainer talked about discipline, Samson paid attention to the letters and tried to recognize them, though he didn't take in what the system actually was.

"Dis-si-plee-naree." He repeated under his breath. Sadly he only knew the first letter was a D but the rest were really hard to choose.

"Put your hands up if you know how to read each letter of our alphabet by itself," Ser Lucas said.

Samson didn't put his hand up and expected everyone else to do the same, but about half of the group shot their arms in the air. Bailey was one of them.

What?! Maybe some were lying.

"Impressive," The trainer said, "and who knows how to write? Hands _up_ , thank you."

Samson put his hand up at a speed that could have knocked someone out, while only three others did the same. Maybe he wasn't the odd one out. He smiled feeling sheepish, and Bailey was staring at him with an open mouth. The roommate had both his hands in his lap.

"Right." Ser Lucas pondered. "I am going to read out the first line of the song. Please tell me if you recognize any letters or phonetics. We are going to try and spell it. Don't worry if there are any mistakes. The language is not what you would usually hear people saying. We just want to have a go."

Samson had a lot of fun trying to pronounce the song and tried guessing some letters. He got one right out of three guesses.

"Very good try… what was your name?"

"Samson," he replied.

The trainer appeared stumped by this.

"Are you in the right class?" Ser Lucas looked at a paper. "Oh, I see what's happened. Never mind. Thank you Samson."

Samson felt nervous. What was that for? Was there something wrong with him?

He tried to avoid Bailey's eye, though he had his lips pursed, looking distrusting. Hopefully they'd drop it.

* * *

The hour didn't seem much like it went for that long. For breakfast they ate dewberry, peach and apple with sourdough bread - the usual. He was used to this kind of food because his mother took left over from the Chantry some days. The others talked about what they had done before arriving - going for hikes in the mountains or along the Wounded Coast, looking on how to make armour and weapons from their parents. Samson found it interesting, but was annoyed he didn't have anything to add.

He glanced over to June at one of the other tables. Did she feel weird surrounded by all these Hightowners too?

* * *

It turned out the song was written by the Magister who owned this gigantic dog house. The slaves didn't get to choose whether they got to sing the song or not. They just had to. That wasn't fair.

Samson put his hand up.

"Yes, Samson?" Ser Lucas said.

"Could the Magister hear the slaves singing from in all the way in here?"

There was a giggle from the unmistakable Demelza and maybe two other boys, which Samson ignored.

"Uh, no." Ser Lucas said. He abandoned the blackboard and thread his fingers together. "I don't think there is even a spell that could do that. There was a rule that if the slaves – remember _be_ – _ow_ sounds - made a mistake in building Kirkwall or got too tired they had to sing it while they got whipped as a way to apologize. And any errors in the _lyrics_ or words of the song meant… it kept going." The trainer made a motion of flinging his fist through the air. "They would _be_ saying " _Ow"_ , like ouch. Understand?"

Samson thought he understood. Whipping meant getting hurt somehow.

"That's horrible!" shouted a boy in the back.

"No calling out." Ser Lucas said. His posture became vigilent. "If you don't put your hand up next time the consequence is," he pointed to the board, "to pretend you are sitting on an invisible chair for 1 minute, or sixty seconds, as I explained earlier on. You have a choice. Understood?"

The boy put his hand up and when prompted said. "Yes, Ser Lucas."

After learning all the different lines of the song they went over history, practiced writing out some important words like their own names, 'Ancient Age', 'Magister Emerius' and 'The City of Chains' and the phonetic components of those words.

* * *

Then they all went for a walk and learned about the parts of the insula and domus. A lot of it was used as classrooms though there were garderobes, places to find tubs to clean clothes, a meditation room, a small library, the offices and quarters of the many trainers and dining hall. Samson had never realized how scary Magisters were and was terrified to learn that Magisters still lived in a place called Tevinter, so they had to respect the differences of the culture even if they disagreed.

"Do you disagree, Ser Lucas?" Samson asked.

"Hand up, Samson. First warning."

He repeated the question after being addressed properly, "Sorry, I forgot. "

"My sister actually has an elf slave," Ser Lucas ventured, strolling down to the next corridor, "he used to live in the Alienage and she treats him very well, so he likes it as far as I can tell. She is very busy with three children so she very much appreciates him. To me it really depends. It's like how some pet owners are nicer than others, _but_ I wouldn't want to live in Tevinter."

"I don't have any pets," Samson said, "Bailey's family has a cat."

"That's nice…" the trainer said, somewhat absently. He turned around. "Which one is Bailey?"

Bailey raised his hand, shooting Samson a look that he didn't want the attention.

"How do you treat your cat, Bailey?"

"Nicely," Bailey said, looking timid, "We make sure Mr Fluffy has food and we pat him."

"Thank you for sharing, Bailey," Ser Lucas said, "Hmm… maybe my pet to slave analogy wasn't very good."

Nobody seemed to know what the Templar was talking about. He was a bit weird.

Samson raised his hand. Ser Lucas nodded at him.

"What's an analogy?"

The Templar sighed. "How about you try and remember your questions and you can ask me during the break?"

Samson nodded obediently.

"See. He's telling you off for asking dumb questions, Samson," Demelza said huffily.

"That's disrespectful, Demelza," Ser Lucas said, "that's your warning. You have a choice of whether you want to hurt your legs for a minute or keep your comments to yourself."

"But they _are_ stupid!" Demelza shot back.

"There's an invisible chair waiting for you just there." Ser Lucas pointed to somewhere against the wall. "Off you go. You chose this. Now count to sixty."

Demelza suddenly went very quiet and did as she was asked, trying to position her legs so her dress wasn't going to flash her undies.

Samson felt very happy about this. He glared at her. Serves her right!

"Ha ha!"

"Samson."

"Yeah?"

The boy peered up at Ser Lucas's slightly tired expression, meeting his eye with careful attention.

"You had a warning too, remember? No making fun. Stand over there against the other wall."

_Opposite Demelza? Noo!_

"Yes, Ser Lucas," Samson said, wanting to prove he was better than the meanie Demelza. He made sure his back was aligned against the freezing wall and started counting as his legs slowly hurt more and more.

"Demelza, do you understand why your comment was rude?" the trainer asked. All their other classmates were huddled around him like cubs to a bear.

The girl shook her head.

"Asking questions is a quality of a clever person, not a stupid person," Ser Lucas said, "It's how we all get smarter."

"There _is_ such thing as stupid questions," Demelza protested, after being addressed with her hand up.

"Maybe there is at your house," Ser Lucas said, "but not here. There _is_ a time and place for questions, and we need to keep on schedule so ask me questions after."

* * *

"Go eat in the dining hall, the big one I showed you this morning," Lucas announced, as many chairs scraped along the ground.

Now he could ask Ser Lucas his questions. Bailey approached Hendrick, "You... we'll see you there?"

"Yeah."

They left. After learning about a prayer, practiced it, taught some manners and practiced writing more, he was exhausted. Hopefully the answers to his questions would be easy to remember.

"Pardon me, Ser Lucas," Demelza said, having reached Ser Lucas first, "I have a question, before _Samson_ gets in your way."

Ser Lucas's eye flashed to Samson's, "He isn't in my way, but go on."

Samson glared at her. She better not say something terrible.

"Did you really make sure he is in the right class?" Demelza inquired, as innocently as if asking for dessert, "I wouldn't want one of the other groups to be missing a person."

"Yes, initiates are placed in classes with their roommates deliberately," Ser Lucas said, slowly, "There was no mistake."

"What?!" Demelza shouted, "Then what was it? Why did you say what you did?"

 _Don't say,_ Samson wanted to interrupt, but he'd already been in trouble once today. If Demelza discovered Samson wasn't his real first name, if that's what it had been, she would make fun of him!

He shook his head, hoping Ser Lucas would look over, but he didn't.

"Samson simply prefers to be addressed by his last name, that's all."

Oh no. Was she going to make fun of him anyway? 

Samson heard footsteps and turned, to see June waiting at the door. She looked slightly nervous.

"What? That's stupid," Demelza seemed very angry about this, "Why is he so stupid? He keeps doing idiotic things! He's such a stupid head."

Why did she have to insult everything he did? The girl was snobby enough without hating him on top of it. Why did Bailey have to always ask Samson questions of why he was here? It was the worst. He wanted his old friends back. Tyler and Kenneth would think he was fine. Madalyn would tell Demelza to wash out her mouth. Even now, June by the door wasn't intervening. Hightowners weren't just snitches, they were craven!

"Shut up!" Samson shouted.

Silence fell. Both students glared at each other, utter hatred in their faces.

Ser Lucas sighed, "How do you think we can fix this?"

"Move Samson to another class!" Demelza yelled, "He doesn't belong here. He's slow!"

Despite efforts, Samson wasn't sure what would resolve it. What if he deserved to be moved? Was he that bad? Even in another class, Demelza would still be part of the training, and she'd probably annoy more people and be moved again.

"I don't know, but I don't think I should be moved," Samson said.

The trainer took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, but I can't move you. We like to have the girls spread equally across all the classes, and it wouldn't be teaching you anything to do so. What if there's another boy in one of the other classes? What would you do then?"

"JUST GET HIM OUT!" Demelza shrieked. Tears were filling her eyes.

"My friends don't get bothered by stuff like that. You're just nasty," Samson shot back.

"I bet you don't have any friends!"

"Demelza, stop. What makes you so angry about that?" Ser Lucas turned, "June, do you have a problem with Samson?"

June seemed startled at being asked. She frowned, "No."

"You're lying!" Demelza shouted. Tears still pouring down her face, she stormed away, leaving Samson feeling taken aback. June looked just as surprised as Samson did, and gave an apologetic, "Sorry." before departing after her roommate.

"Maker. She's like my six month old niece," Ser Lucas said, bewildered. He looked down at Samson, "I'm sorry about that. Are you well?"

Samson didn't know, so he shrugged. He wanted to find Kenneth and Tyler.

"I'll talk to her later," Ser Lucas assured him, "I'm impressed you waited so long to ask your questions, Mister Switch-my-Name-Around. Do you have many?"

From up close it was clear he'd made a careful effort to make parts of his hair stick together. It looked how one might after a shower. His eyes were a warm golden hue.

Samson asked what he could remember – what was an analogy? What was whipping? How can someone 'stomach' something? Why was the domas shaped like a giant dog house? Were there giant dogs in Tevinter?

The trainer stopped him there.

"Giant dogs?" Ser Lucas made a very similar expression that Bailey had. "No, not unless they were darkspawn I guess. Even then… Thedas isn't known for having animals that size. Do you like dogs?"

Samson nodded, suddenly regaining part of his energy. "I play pretend as a dog sometimes. Do you want to see?"

"No, that's alright," Ser Lucas said. He looked tired and tapped his quill, "I can't remember – can you read?"

The boy shook his head, "I can write every letter."

"But you can't read what you're writing," the trainer deduced.

"No, Ser Lucas."

The Templar scratched his head, "Bailey knows the alphabet. Can you ask him to help you? Try learn one extra letter tonight. Tell me how you find it tomorrow."

"Yes, Ser Lucas," Samson said. This sounded easy enough. "When do we get to sword fight?"

"In a few weeks," He said. "We learn the footwork and about horses first."

"What's footwork?" Samson asked.

"Maker…" the trainer let chin fall to his chest. "What do your parents do?"

"My mother works in the Chantry," Samson said, "my father works away from the Chantry."

"I see. I'll take a look at your record. I'm going to see if I can contact them," Ser Lucas said, "I don't like seeing kids like you fail exams and get asked to leave."

"Kids like me?" Samson inquired, not understanding, "Are there more than one of me?"

"No." Ser Lucas got up from his desk and stetched. "You have a lot of questions and it is hard to answer them all in the time we have. And you have a bit of an overactive imagination… it's not a calamity it just makes even more questions. Again, it's hard to keep track. But I'm here to help." The man smiled, "It's very positive that you want to learn, Samson. It encouraged your friends want to participate as well, did you notice?"

Samson did something between a nod and shaking his head. He didn't see why that was important. He also was oblivious to why he didn't want to leave the trainer's office.

"Did you know…" the boy ventured, "I talked to the furniture at home and my mother didn't mind."

"Andraste praise you, Samson," Ser Lucas said, suddenly pivoting back around to his desk. "If my nieces started talking to the chairs my sister would get _very_ upset. I have clearly no idea about your furniture but ours won't talk back. In fact, they don't talk at all."

"But I speak their language," Samson said.

"I don't care if you're an expert in their "language". Please don't talk to the furniture," Ser Lucas said, more firmly, "talk to Bailey instead."

"I like talking to Bailey better anyway," Samson said, hardly offended. It would be easy to not talk to the furniture, although he still wasn't entirely sure about Bailey. "I like it here. It's more interesting than at home, so I will work very hard." He drew on what he'd learned about manners. "Thank you very much for your help. Good evening and good night, Ser Lucas!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old English words were used for the little song at the beginning. Translations are:  
> Lof = praise  
> Bedight = decorate  
> Bletsian = bless  
> Boew= slave  
> Fyren = wickeness or crime


	3. Sharing and Making up Stories

When Samson grabbed a bowl of soup, one of the teenagers said dinner was almost _always_ soup or something with rice. Samson didn't mind that. What concerned him more was the question of where to sit. Disparaged by the uproar from Demelza, he wanted more than ever to be around those who made him feel accepted. Bailey, Hendrick and those others did not fit into that category… June might, but she was with Demelza. Without another moment's hesitation, he paced around the tables, trying to find Kenneth and Tyler.

After at least five minutes of scanning the crowd of seven to thirteen year olds, they waved him over.

"Samson!" Kenneth called, his arm moving frantically like a flag.

Disappointment filled him. The seats on either side were taken and unfamiliar faces looked at him.

"Is this someone you know?" one asked.

"You bet," Tyler replied. The scars on his face, while they had not completely faded, were less visible in this light, "Come over."

Samson, reluctantly did. His friends would understand about Demelza but not the other children. The closer he stepped, somehow, he felt even further away. As they started talking, it was weird to have the others at the table staring at him. In the Chantry the other adults there had other people to look at. It wasn't as easy to focus on the conversation.

"Why would anyone do that?" the boy next to Kenneth asked, in response to Tyler saying the shutter in Samson's room broke by being punched, "Anyway who is this?"

The two other boys -Alec and Nicholas- introduced themselves. Samson again, felt like something wasn't right, though didn't know what.

"Are you going to eat your soup? If it gets too cold, you might get sick."

"That's not how soup works," Kenneth disagreed.

"Dying by soup. On the tombstone," Tyler had a dreamy look in his eyes, likely imagining it.

"Which rooms are you in again?" Samson inquired.

"A bear!" Tyler said, momentarily displaying his claws.

"Leaf," Kenneth answered.

Samson tried to remember whose room corresponded to what. "Can I eat my soup with you?"

"What's wrong with your table?" Alec, the one on Tyler's left, said.

"It doesn't have my friends," Samson said, not shrinking down.

Tyler looked conflicted. "Meet us after eating. Outside the room with the Anchor – it's to the left on the entrance."

Samson grinned. "Yeah!"

He eventually returned to his original table, feeling more at ease at the thought of speaking to his friends later without others around to ruin it.

"Where were you?" Bailey muttered, when Samson sat down on Hendrick's other side.

"Getting soup," Samson said, not wanting another interrogation from Bailey.

"Why'd you stay so long in class?"

"Demelza yelled at me."

Hendrick looked surprised. "I didn't think she'd get that upset."

"She's so annoying," Chandler groaned, "What was she being annoying about?"

Samson didn't want to explain. "Dunno. Ser Lucas said he'd talk to her, though."

"I hope that improves it," Bailey said, "she was very rude - to everyone, but especially you, Samson."

Bewildered, Samson scrutinized Bailey's expression. He had been so distracted about how isolated Bailey made him feel sometimes to notice that his roommate was on his side, and that was weird. Speaking to Kenneth and Tyler more might make him feel better about it all.

"I'm going for a walk," he invented, "but I'll go back to the room after, Bailey."

* * *

To avoid standing in the middle of the corridor, Samson, Kenneth and Tyler stood against the wall, in the space between doors until the mass of initiates passed. The sooner they could get somewhere without it echoing, the better.

"Hey, littlies," an older boy advised, "don't wander too far."  
"We're not."

Now having no choice, they sat on some chairs near the entrance.

"Do you like your roommates?" Samson wondered aloud, trying to keep his voice down.

His friends made ambiguous sounds.

"Alec thinks I am in the insula against the law," Tyler said, and he put on an exaggerated, high pitched voice, " _Darktowners steal money_. I yelled even louder back 'the Templars would be able to tell if it was stolen money', though Alec didn't think so. "

This exchange sounded too familiar.

"Is he from Hightown?" Samson inquired.

"Nearly everyone from my class is from Hightown," Tyler said, "What about you, Kenneth?"

"Sophie said her roommate is from Darktown," Kenneth said.

"What? Why do you have a _girl_ from Darktown?" Tyler exclaimed, "I've got four Hightown girls. At least they are nice, though."

Enthusiasm had always been a quality of his. The contagiousness of it made Samson feel a little better.

" _Nice_?!" Samson demanded, as flabbergasted as Kenneth.

"They act like they live in castles," Kenneth said, "and they like each other. I don't think Sophie cares where Zoe lives."

"I'll trade Demelza for one of them," Samson said. "She yelled at me."

"With a name like Demelza..." Tyler shook his head. "I think _she_ is here when she's not allowed."

"Do you think Alec was telling the truth?" Kenneth questioned, "My roommate didn't care that I was from Lowtown."

As a ritual of pride, Samson gave a high five to his friend. Lowtown was the best.

With Bailey's comments in mind, he asked more seriously, "What if we are here against the law?"

Kenneth and Tyler stared.

"How can you say that?" Tyler exclaimed, " _Our_ parents."

"Your parents," Kenneth agreed, "MY parents."

"The Templars would know," Tyler said.

"They saved up the money, like the others. That's what my mum said," Kenneth said.

Samson wasn't sure anymore. His friends did seem very convinced, but so did Bailey. One detail was amiss.

"What about Madalyn? She wanted to go too, just as much as we did."

"Her mum's evil," Tyler said.

"Yeah, she just didn't want Madalyn being a Templar," Kenneth concurred.

Samson considered. He had the word of two of his friends against someone he barely knew. His friends were probably right. "Do you like class?"

"Awesome," Tyler said with a grin.

Kenneth gave a tentative nod of agreement. "You?"

"I like it," Samson said, "It isn't as good without you two."

"We can meet here tomorrow," Kenneth suggested.

"Yeah! Then it'll be more fun," Tyler responded.

Samson felt uncomfortable at this suggestion, "Not all the time, but…" he considered telling them he had homework, but it was too enjoyable talking to them, "Tomorrow."

They talked about their classmates, teachers, the classes and it was fun. Tyler had a female teacher that he found funny. Kenneth's teacher was an older man, who blew his nose too many times a day and was strict about the room being clean. When an older girl asked what they were doing out of their rooms, they dispersed. He went back to his room late, yet with more energy than he'd had all day.

* * *

Bailey was happy to teach Samson the first letter of the alphabet on the exchange that Samson taught Bailey how to write. They laid on the floor after changing into their night clothes and worked together. Samson showed Bailey how pretty he could make his writing and his roommate got very jealous. It was nice to know he was good at something.

"Where were you?" Bailey asked, in the middle of writing the City of Chains for the fifth time. He looked bored like there was no emotion in his face.

"I went for a walk," Samson lied, not wanting to get on Bailey's bad side more. His parchment had a continuous stream of the letters 'a' and 'b'.

"Why?" Bailey asked.

"I like walks."

"By yourself?" Bailey inquired, "That's odd."

For some reason, it didn't bother Samson when Tyler and Kenneth told him this, but with Bailey it did. He never thought it was that bad. On the contrary he considered himself as very normal. "No, I'm not."

"You like being on your own a lot," Bailey replied, like he was describing how his writing looked.

Samson had trouble staying calm now. "That doesn't mean I'm weird."

"I was never by myself at my estate," Bailey said, "Mum said if I did I was being lazy."

"I'm lazy then," Samson said, wanting to change the subject, "Your mum gets her words wrong."

"No, she doesn't," Bailey said, quite calmly.

Samson tried very hard not to groan. "Parents don't know everything."

Bailey ignored him. They both ignored each other for a little while, until his roommate sniffed.

Samson peered over, bewildered. Bailey didn't look the same as normal, though it was hard to say why. Taking a chance, he said, "Are you sad?"

"I miss my parents," Bailey responded, briefly glancing at Samson, "I miss my house and Mr Fluffly."

"I don't," Samson replied. He didn't really understand the point of the conversation.

"Yeah because you've never been to my house..." Bailey said, throwing down his quill. He seemed annoyed maybe. "My dad said it's normal to get homesick."

Samson was unsure of what to say. From what Bailey had said about his manor, it sounded exciting. He might even like it. Maybe Bailey was right about that, "Your house sounds bigger than mine," he replied, "My house is very small. It has four rooms."

"Only four?" Bailey responded, "Mine has so many I haven't counted."

"Two hundred rooms," Samson tried to joke, "I think _that's_ weird. Nearly everyone here is from Hightown."

"I told you," Bailey said. He wiped his face, and Samson spotted that he was crying, "I hate it because my friends have been put in other rooms. It's so unfair."

Samson tried to focus on writing his capital letter A and mouthing the phonetic sound, as he wondered about whether he should admit he lied on not. Then he decided he didn't have to lie. His father wasn't around. He was always angry and tired, and talked about those he worked with as lying snitches nearly every day– so Samson started lying so his father would stop talking about his work, because it was boring and made his mother sad. The lies got him in trouble, but it was better than being bored and seeing his mother sad. When his lies were really good his mother said Samson was very funny, and knew exactly what to say. It wasn't a good thing, lying, but for some reason it _felt_ like a good idea a lot of the time.

"I went for a walk by myself," Samson repeated, "and then I saw my friends from the Chantry. It was fun."

Bailey looked surprised. "Why didn't you tell the truth?"

"I don't know."

Bailey was sad because he wanted to be home. Even though Samson didn't want Bailey to be upset, where they wanted to be wasn't important anymore.

"This is our house now," he said finally. "We're brothers."

"I guess." Bailey still looked sad. "We should have a title. That way it can be like I'm at home, and you can know what it is like."

"House Witherstalk of the Dormitory of Chains," Samson invented, remembering the fragrance of burning flowers that the two mysteriously shared. "We don't have slaves but puppies help us and Mr Fluffy watches them."

"We are the Knights of House Witherstalk!" Bailey said with newly found vigor. As quickly as the emotion came it disappeared. He laid his head in his arms. "I'm so tired."

"What's the pass code for the door?" Samson pressed. "I have fire, so don't get it wrong."

He pointed to the flamed torch threateningly.

Playing along with the game, Bailey shouted the first phrase that came to his mind. "Throw a nug to the 'gulls!"

"Attack!"

Samson threw one of his pillows on the ground and the two boys pretended to be birds and beat the stuffing out of that pillow. Bailey picked up his metal sword and prodded it.

"Yuck, nug guts!" his roommate complained, as some feathers spat out of it.

From that night on Samson slept with the pillow broken side down and never intended to fix it. A week later he asked Ser Lucas for a spare pillowcase because his old one "flew out the window". Maybe Templars were experts at detecting lies because Samson was given a pin and thread to repair it. The brunet was very pleased that Ser Lucas showed him how to sew it together, but he felt like a cat was watching him when the trainer squeezed Samson's shoulder and explained that telling the truth was more often than not a good idea.

Samson thought that maybe here, he would eventually learn that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to JayRain for beta-ing - much appreciated! Also, thanks to my friend Anla'shok for reading the story without any knowledge of DA and giving me feedback from that perspective, which inspired this re-write.


	4. Waking Up Early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to JayRain for the beta.

"They're not a worry," Bailey said as they took their seats. He was referring to being glanced by onlookers in the Chantry. "I really don't like getting up in the morning, though. My body feels so heavy it's like I'm dead."

Samson didn't get that impression since they'd started racing each other to get out of bed, and even when Samson got up first Bailey knew how to get dressed quicker.

Their group had a couple of rows of seats all to themselves, and Ser Lucas was seated to the far left.

The other classes went to later services. It was a weird rule since there were not many here anyway.

Two lay sisters started to play their flutes, signalling the beginning of the service.

The songs woke Samson up. They were adapted from Chantry scripture, like "Seven Thousand Strong" "The Lonely Ones" and "The Lady of Bright Steel". This morning it was 'May All Things be Done'. Samson already knew the words, even if he didn't know how they were spelled or what they meant. When he'd been brought here by his mother he would stay for hours and usually be around for three services in a day, sometimes five. As far as he was concerned, he was an expert and knowing the lyrics made him cleverer than others. Still, he developed a habit mouthing lyrics to conceal his yawns.

" _Dream and idea, Hope and fear, endless possibilities_ ," they sung, " _and from it made his secondborn, and he said to them, 'In My Image I forge you, to you I give dominion over all that exists. By your will may all things be done. By your will may all things be done_."

The chorus came around again, and he heard Bailey on his other side mess up one word, as it was a slight deviation of the first chorus.

"I don't care how many there are," Samson hissed in Bailey's ear once the song ended, "I don't like others looking. I can sense it. Look, my arm's gone all bumpy."

He showed his roommate the goose-pimples on his arm, to little effect.

"Shh…" Bailey cut him off.

The Cleric Katalinka drank some water and Samson began his time of worship before the instruction was given. He sat down in unison with his fellow initiates, dazed out and gave his thanks to the Maker. It was especially easy to fill this time since Ser Lucas had explained about immersing the mind in the surroundings to quieten it. He was used to entertaining himself in silence so this was merely one of those ways. Occasionally, he remembered something.

 _I listen and serve Your Will, Maker,_ he recited internally; _I thank you for letting me be here so I can learn how to read._

He repeated similar thanks every instance of worship.

_Thank you for not letting me see those cats that eat a bird outside my house._

_Old house,_ he corrected himself.

Then he paid attention to his breathing. He listened to the sounds of Bailey breathing from his left, and of Hendrick on his right. Time appeared to slow and quicken as he pretended he was the very chair he was seated on, and pondering how a chair experienced reality. When he came out of his trance for a moment he couldn't remember how to speak anymore. Even as chairs had a language, he was sure, he had not been a chair that knew how to speak. He had been a mute chair.

From the two brothers either side of him slipping away, it was time for greeting time. They had to introduce themselves to someone they did not know and practice manners.

Samson approached a woman far older than he was. She was so thin she layered herself in many clothes to stay warm. He'd seen her before around Lowtown and the Chantry sometimes, and he liked that she dressed the same way he used to. Before she could approach another person, he gave a short bow.

"Good morning, fair lady," he said, trying to sound high in spirits, "I hope your morning has been nice and that we can learn each other's names."

Above the scarf Samson saw that the crinkles of the woman's eyes and assumed she was smiling.

"I seen you every few days," she said. Her voice was syrupy, "You're adorable. I'm not used to the formals way of talking."

This disjointed speech was quite normal in Samson's part of the neighborhood. He wondered why people always said he was 'cute', but he wasn't allowed to ask. "My name's Samson Raleigh. I'm a Chantry initiate, a Knight of the Maker in training. What's your name?"

The woman appeared delighted. Her hands flew to her scarf. "Annelise is my name, Samson. I don't work much. I am a part time hunter. I have sickness that makes me very tired quick, but what I hunt the Barracks get. I use arrows and my boyfriend accompanies me to make sure I don't fall over." She gave a cynical cackle. "You're lucky to be here where they give you all you need."

"Yes, Hunter Annelise," Samson replied, "Thank you for saying so."

He didn't know what she was talking about. She wasn't coughing or vomiting, so she couldn't be sick. She looked the same as he did not a fortnight ago. "I don't know what you mean. You look healthy."

"Your teacher be proud of you," Annelise said. She moved away very slowly, "So nice of you to say, but I have not looked healthy since I was about your age. Wasn't far back." She swayed slightly on the spot. "Maybe we will see each other another time."

"Thank you for speaking to me, Hunter Annelise." Samson showed his appreciation with a nod of the head. As he returned back to his seat, he scanned the Chantry at the other children still speaking to others in the room. Warmth invigorated his heart as he spotted a familiar girl in a blouse with sleeves that went past her hands, with some soot on her chin.

 _Madalyn_! He tried to catch her eye from behind one of his classmates, but she didn't see him. Carefully, when Ser Lucas wasn't looking, he waved briskly. He held back from tackling her unannounced, since those were the sorts of games they were used to play here. Hoping at some point she might look in the general direction and identify him, he wandered indolently to his seat.

When he was about to resume his usual pace, they made eye contact. He raised his eyebrows in a way she knew meant 'what's up?' and she returned it with a 'blah blah blah' motion with her hand, which is what she did when other people were irritating her. Usually, she would use her socks as puppets, but today it was just her over-sized blouse. Samson smiled and he contemplated how he might be able to visit her.

* * *

From the Chantry songs they learned sections of the Chant in more detail. These took hours to learn, but then they played.

That afternoon Ser Lucas asked for eight volunteers. Many boys and girls put their hands up enthused, but Samson was not one of them, despite enjoying participating in games. Seated at his usual table in the domus, Bailey's legs were trembling impatiently. This was unusual for his roommate, and Samson wouldn't abandon his brother. Something might be wrong.

The boy leaned forward at the exact moment the scraping chairs distorted their speech. "Psst, brother."

"What?" Bailey mouthed, apparently nervous.

Samson's eyes darted to Ser Lucas, though he thankfully wasn't listening.

"That's good." The instructor praised. "You four – please line up on the left side of the room, and the others will stay here."

To tell Bailey to keep it still, Samson prodded Bailey's leg. It seemed his roommate understood the insinuation, since he waited until the rumble of footsteps made them inaudible.

" _Demelza_ ," Bailey voiced in a disjointed undertone, "keeps looking at me."

 _That girl never looks at anybody unless they are annoying her_ , Samson thought. He wanted to explain this, but now the room was quiet again, they would have to wait.

Samson watched Ser Lucas pull out some materials from a basket onto the desk in front of him: a glass of water, a piece of bread, a Chant of Light, and the map of the Chantry they'd drawn over the past week. Samson could still recognize the neat labels he'd put for each section.

"Your brothers and sisters on that side of the room will be mages," Lucas determined calmly. He gestured to the other four, "and these will be Templars."

 _Shambles_! Samson cursed internally, regretting his decision to not join in. He wanted to pretend to be a mage!

As he turned back to Bailey, Samson stole a glimpse of Demelza. Now watching the game unfold in front, she was not looking at Bailey, but she also looked her usual self, like she was trying not to vomit.

"Are you sure?"

He'd barely got to the end of the sentence when Bailey cut across him, ""Stop staring!"

"You did first," Samson pointed out.

The two attuned themselves to the activity, and having missed the instructions, pretended they could follow what was happening. Ser Lucas was over the left side of the room and giving what looked like very secret instructions to the mages. No matter how quiet everyone else was no one could hear it. Still, Samson tried, leaning forward in his chair as much as possible. It didn't work.

Ser Lucas paced back to the middle of the room. "Pretend you are in the Gallows. Interact with the mages however you think is right."

Samson shot a curious look in Bailey's direction. This seemed like an important game… but none of those in the Templar group had weapons. What if the mages did something bad?

June, one of the mages tentatively approached Colin, a round boy. "Excuse me, Ser Knight."

"Yes, mage?"

"I am hungry," June said, "can you please help me?"

All eyes were on Colin. He was usually confident, but now he paused, stumped, and glanced around the room uncomfortably. Whispers flew from those at tables, hissing on what should be done.

"We have bread here!" Matthew picked it up from the desk, "Do you think the mage is allowed to have it?"

"Is…uh…" a tanned boy Samson didn't remember the name of went quiet.

"What if it's _our_ bread?" Colin tested.

"Who cares?" Matthew countered, "We're meant to share."

Vigorous nods and hand gestures came from other tables.

Not wanting to look a fool, Colin took the bread from Matthew and handed it out. "Here you go, mage."

"Thank you!" burst out June. She took the bread, ripped off a piece and handed some back. "This is for your kindness, Ser."

She then paced to put the bread back on the desk. Colin bit his lip as Ser Lucas told them to both sit down.

Three Templars and three mages were left.

Ethan, who was almost as much of a trouble maker as Samson, stamped his feet and waved his arms around like trying to wallop someone over the head. "Ser Knight, I am so thirsty. If you don't help me, I will evaporate into the sky!"

The other children cackled.

"I don't think so," Matthew replied this time, annoyed that others were laughing, "unless you want to become a splatter on the ceiling."

More giggles arrived in response. Samson wondered if it was actually possible to splatter a person like that.

Bailey nudged Samson, urging him to look at the trainer. Ser Lucas was trying not to roll his eyes, but it appeared he was amused or disappointed.

"But I am here to look after you," Matthew said reluctantly. He took the glass, almost spilled the water by accident, and placed it into Ethan's hands. "There's some water."

Ethan drank the whole thing –water stealer!- put it back on the desk and sat down.

Samson guessed that the map and the Chant would be put to use next. He whispered to Bailey as the next exchange took place.

"What's wrong with girls anyway? I knew one from the Chantry before I came here."

Bailey waited until the last of, "I really like the Chantry. Can I attend a service?" was said.

"They scare me," he muttered, making an effort not to be overheard. "My mum said girls are really mean."

"Err, no I can't take you to a Chantry service," Michael replied, indignant. "You're not allowed to leave the Gallows."

"But I should be allowed to!" protested a boy with pupils shaped like keyholes, "It's not fair. I only want to feel closer to the Maker!"

"It's not allowed!" Michael shouted. He looked uncomfortable and crossed his arms.

"But I want to go!"

The boy stamped his feet very loudly. Some in the room covered their ears.

"Get away!" the last Templar, Andrew, urged his brother to move.

The other boy did. He picked up the Chant of Light.

"I'm sorry, mage. I have a Chant of Light here. That attunes you to the Maker."

"The Maker cares for you too!" Andrew urged. "Here, there's a map. We can tell you all about the Chantry if you like. Maybe you can draw a picture and make your own special place to pray to the Maker."

The foot stamping stopped.

"Okaaayyy…" the mage reluctantly agreed.

The pair returned to their seats, leaving two left.

Samson resumed the conversation about girls with Bailey like no time had passed. "I don't think so. June is nicer than Demelza though."

The discussion was halted by an unexpected sight. The last boy, who was very tall, simply sprinted across the room, and was trying very hard not to grin.

"That's _cheating_!" Andrew yelled, completely dumbfounded, like he'd been told he had to sit in the dreaded invisible chair for two minutes. Not sure what he was supposed to do, and since the tall boy had almost made it to the door, Andrew sprinted after him. Those at tables were an enthusiastic, but not always helpful audience.

"Don't run like a girl, Landon!' Chandler warned from his table.

"Be careful!" June squeaked, moving her chair so they could jump past. With how little space there was between chairs and tables, the room was almost like an obstacle course or a maze. Spare chairs were moved here and there, in an attempt to make it more difficult to get caught, and then pushed back into their places. Hendrick even held an arm out to try get in the way. Some others held out a foot, but Landon was too fast. He jumped over every obstacle and didn't trip once. The room had never been noisier, but it was exciting.

Having made a figure eight and a zig zag around the room, Landon reached the door, but Ser Lucas stood in the way.

"Move!" Landon shouted. "Or I'll use fire!"

Ser Lucas merely smiled and shook his head. The mage tried to move past but gave up and continued to run. "You're an awful Templar, Ser Lucas! Tonight I'll set you on fire!"

"I appreciate the feedback," Ser Lucas said lightly.

Bailey grinned, immersed in the chaos, and had forgotten about Demelza for now. The pair started another figure eight but in the opposite direction… or was it a star shape? This mage was a cheater, and not doing what it was supposed to do. If Templars saw someone else's mage get away, if the Templar was having trouble weren't they allowed to help?

Samson stood out of his chair. If mages would cheat, so would he.

"No, you don't!" he shouted. He attempted to skid in front of Landon as he pelted towards their table, but changed tactics.

"I'll get you with fire!" the boy retorted.

As Samson joined the chase, others rose from their seats too. Landon may be tall for a mage, but it wasn't anything a couple more Templars couldn't deal with.

"It's stupid to outrun us," Demelza said. "Stupid mage! You can't use fire in here!"

Chaos and more giggling ensued, and the room became a hectic mess of racket.

It was over in twenty seconds. Three of them tackled Landon. The boy almost tripped over but caught himself on the table just in time. Even if he managed to struggle free, he was surrounded.

"You're all dead!" Landon warned them. "You're all on fire."

"No, we're not!" Demelza shot back. "We deflected it with our magic lyrium, which is much better. You're the one in big trouble now."

"Mage cheater!" Chandler yelled.

"Nice job, everybody," Ser Lucas called over the top of them. He clapped his hands once and pointed to the tables. Dutifully, everyone got back into their seats, recovering from the physical exertion.

Samson thought maybe the trainer glanced at him for a second longer than the others. "Good show of teamwork. Before we swap over, I'd like to explain the purpose of that exercise."

"The water and the bread represent how we speak the word of the Maker through kindness and generosity. We attend to the physical needs of mages and each other. The Maker cares about mages." Ser Lucas said. "So no, mages are not cheaters. They are people, but they need to train to use their magic just like how you are training to be Templars now. The Maker shares his wisdom to us through his words, a moral compass, which is the Chant. This is why it is not absolutely _necessary_ mages attend the Chantry. Any questions?"

Andrew raised his hand. "Did you ever play chase with mages, Ser Lucas?"

There were some scattered cackles from across the room, but the trainer humoured them.

"You know what is amusing," Ser Lucas said, smirking, "Yes, I have."

"PRAISE THE MAKER," Chandler exclaimed, and Hendrick snorted so much he almost needed a tissue.

"We all need to get taller like Landon," Demelza said, "Then we can take one step and squash them."

Even Bailey laughed at that.

Samson and Bailey got to have a turn being mages and Templars, with different objects to make use of. It was some of the most fun they'd had so far. They resumed their talk about Demelza when they were allowed a short break.

"What does your mum say about boys?" Samson wondered.

"That they are clever when they want to be," Bailey answered.

"Be clever then, brother," Samson advised, "Go talk to her."

"Now?!" Bailey seemed offended, "No, no, I can't."

"Wuss."

"You talk to her."

"Fine."

This would be easy.

Though when Samson approached her table, where she was talking to June, Demelza took one look at him and said, "Go away."

Perhaps it wouldn't be _that_ easy.

The retort led Samson to slowly retreat. He couldn't bother telling her that wasn't polite. She chose very carefully when to show her manners and it was never with him.

"Task complete, brother," Samson told him.

Bailey frowned. "Your mouth didn't move!"

"I used my invisible language," Samson justified. "She didn't answer."

* * *

The boy sat down on the Chantry bench. No one was due to wake up for another hour. He had snuck into the service previous his class and sat at the back, blending in with the other initiates. The teacher wouldn't notice. Madalyn's parents had a reputation for arriving too early to the services for fear that they might be late. Samson wondered if it was all an excuse, because they were never late for anything. As the initiates from Tyler's class sat down, he got many askance glances, though no one commented.

All he would have to do was sit through this service, and talk to Madalyn during the gap before his class came in. The Templar who was training them gave him the strangest expression at all, and it didn't make sense until when the initiates dispersed to practice their manners. She was a woman who looked as old as his mother with dark skin and thin eyebrows.

"I don't believe you are in this class," she muttered, sitting next to him, "What inspired you to join us this morning?"

"I, uh…" Samson wondered if he should lie, but Ser Lucas told him not to, "I don't know."

"While you are here, Initiate… who's your trainer?"

"Ser Lucas."

"Ser Lucas will be checking names at breakfast and wondering where you are. Does your roommate know you're here?"

"No."

The trainer sighed. "What's your name?"

"Samson."

"Do you understand what you have done wrong?" the woman asked.

Samson shook his head. He wanted her to stop talking to him so he could go look for Madalyn.

"I will tell him where you are. Wait here until your class arrives."

Unconcerned with what might happen with him, Samson jumped up from his seat and realizing he'd missed some time to practice manners. Madalyn and her parents weren't there yet.

Thankfully, he did manage to speak to them as the previous class was leaving. In the excitement, he forgot to blend in with those around him.

"SAMSON!" She jumped up once and waved frantically. "School! Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's fun," Samson explained, "Do you like home?"

"It's poo," Madalyn moaned operatically with a pull of her hair.

"No! Why?"

"It's boring of the boringest. I want to train to be Knight, but Mum and Dad won't let me."

"Shambles!"

"Come play!" Madalyn told him, with a tug of his arm.

"I don't think I'm allowed," Samson said, moving forward a step before freeing himself from her grasp, "I got in trouble."

"That's so unfair. I have to make friends with the peoples at the places next to mine. I hate them! They don't play anything interesting. I'd rather clean the chamber pots than be there."

"Madalyn," Madalyn's dad had spotted them. He was a large man, and a nice fellow, 'Oh, Raleigh… no, Samson, my mistake. Don't you have school?"

"Good morning, Madalyn's father," Samson practiced his manners.

"Hah. Good, good." Madalyn's Dad smiled a little. "How are you?"

"Good."

"Good, good. We must be off. Madalyn's got a lot to do today."

How disheartening. Samson looked to Madalyn and wasn't sure how to show everything would be okay. She looked like she was about to cry.

"Wave to Bailey and me from our seats in the Chantry," he said, "Or sit near us. We can send each other secret messages."

Madalyn smiled and pulled at her hair twice, something she did when cheerier. "Bye, Samson! Tell Kenneth and Tyler they're lazy!"

"You bet I will," Samson said.

Feeling slightly more reassured, he went back to his seat in the front row of the Chantry, and everything was fine. Keeping a look out, Samson spotted Ser Lucas enter the Chantry with a careworn expression. The trainer had always been nice, but now he didn't look so cheerful. It didn't make sense. Samson was here before anybody else. Nothing bad had happened, so he pushed the expression from his mind. Nothing went wrong at all, not the next round of singing or manners, until the very end of the service and Ser Lucas wanted to talk to him.

As Samson was about to join the line of his fellow initiates leaving the Chantry, the trainer waved a hand to catch his attention. "Wait a minute, Samson."

The boy stopped in his tracks/ Ser Lucas sat down at the end of the seating bench, which made Samson nervous. Ser Lucas gestured him over and prodded to the bench, so he went to sit down too. The Chantry's visitors bustled about, exited and entered as usual, though it felt very strange to have a grown up sitting next to him. It was almost as bizarre as those cats outside his house.

Ser Lucas cautiously looked over at the other initiates for a moment, whom were under the care of the other woman trainer, and turned to him, hunching over to be heard in an undertone. "I heard you went for a wander this morning. Is that true?"

Samson nodded, still not knowing what the problem was.

Ser Lucas looked strained, briefly avoiding Samson's eyes. "Why did you do that?"

The man didn't sound like Samson's mother or father did. What was the right thing to do? He sat there, mute, confused.

"Samson, what is the matter? Are you scared?"

Samson didn't answer. He wasn't sure if he had ever been fearful.

"I want to help you," Ser Lucas said, a bit quieter. Again, Samson wasn't sure what the look in his eyes meant.

"I don't know," he repeated.

"Do you realize how irresponsible you have been running off on your own?"

The boy shook his head.

"I was very worried about you. So was Bailey. It was lucky Ser Eleanor came to talk to me. Joining other classes without permission is against the rules."

Finally, Samson managed, "Why is it against the rules?"

"We like to keep friends away from each other when they come here. Otherwise it sometimes stops them from making friends with the other children, and it isn't fair to the ones who don't know anybody at all," Ser Lucas explained, "Sorry Samson. You'll get to see them sometime, I'm sure."

"I don't like that rule," Samson said.

"Is there something wrong with having Bailey is your roommate? Are you not getting along?"

"We are okay."

"You just wanted to see your friend, a girl?"

Samson nodded.

"I hate telling kids this. I understand it is irritating- I really do, but please don't do that again. You've gotten in trouble for lying before. If you get spotted sneaking out of the Insula again, I will have to replace you with another applicant. Templar training needs your full attention."

Samson rarely cried about anything at all, not even the scary cats outside his old house, but now he was crying. He looked down at his knees and scrunched up his face in an attempt to make the tears halt, but they wouldn't. Getting in trouble was very sad. He liked it better when he could do whatever he wanted, play and talk to whoever he wanted.

_No! Leaving would be even worse, because I wouldn't get to see Kenneth or Tyler at all. And my house is boring._

Ser Lucas didn't do anything. He sat there, very still. "I'm sorry, Samson. Templar training is hard. I am not denying that. When you're older, there will be more chances to have fun on your own. Eventually, if you pass the training, you will get to visit family and friends when you have free time, but you have to be very well behaved to get to that point. Do you understand?"

Samson wiped his tears away. "Y-yes, Ser Lucas."

"Are you going to behave?"

He nodded over and over, wiping his eyes. When he followed Ser Lucas to the classroom, he did his best to stop crying, though he hid his face from Bailey and his friends. It took many years until he forgot what Ser Lucas told him, and by the time the memory faded, Samson had become one of the hardest working, disciplined Templar initiates in his cohort anyway.


	5. An office is a hiding place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost an entire year since this was last updated. Never fear, sections had been drafted ahead for that long on my computer. I can hopefully complete it in the next few months. 
> 
> Thank you JayRain for being a lovely beta for me again!

_ Sword fighting practice _ was a misleading term. For the first class, they didn’t have swords; neither was there anything that remotely resembled them. They were sorted in lines in a stretch of grass beyond the domus, where they just had shade. The soft, even ground was the extent of the joy.

“It’s like dancing,” June remarked, as they all reached their arms up into the air. “My older sister gets classes from a teacher in Hightown.”

Samson pretended he was preparing to stab the underbelly of a dragon as he squinted from the sunlight.

Chandler was quick to answer. “We didn’t come here to dance. We don’t care about what your sister does.”

“I CARE!” Demelza shouted, as though she was the very sister being insulted.

“And down to the ground, and hold for ten seconds.” Ser Lucas raised his voice to try disrupt the chatter. “Chandler, repeat the exercise while we go onto the next warm up. Demelza, no yelling.”

Hendrick snickered from somewhere to Samson’s right. Bailey gave a shuddering sigh as they leaned over to reach their toes. Samson pretended to slice a creature burrowing underground.  

They spread out after being shown what they would be learning today.

June had a point. The footwork was a lot like dancing. While the girls found this enjoyable, the boys pretended they were preparing to use lyrium.  It was when Samson was about to start his third set of steps when Ser Lucas approached him. 

“Samson,” he said, in a hushed voice, “I managed to get in contact with your mother. Can I talk to you about it now?”

There was no one listening; Samson checked from side to side, and everybody else was busy practicing footwork with various leg tangles. “Okay.”

“I wanted to see how I could best help you, and how your parents could best help you when you are able to start writing to them.” Ser Lucas said. “I met your mum in the Chantry. She was a thoughtful, energetic woman, and … uh,  _ interesting _ .”

“I don’t find her very interesting,” Samson said, having to concentrate a little before doing a lunge.

“Put your weight on your back leg, and practice how it feels to go back and forth off the front,” the trainer recommended.

“Yes, Ser.”  Samson did as he was told. The movement looked stupid.

“Your mum was very excited to ask how you were, though she was easily distracted. Is she like that with you, Samson?”

Samson had to think about this for a moment. “Why are you saying that about my mum?”

“I would like to determine how to talk to her.”

Ser Lucas looked very serious about this. It was strange.

“Do you not like my mum?” Samson wondered aloud, feeling hurt.

“Please don’t get that impression,” Ser Lucas said hastily. “I thought she was very nice. I merely found her hard to understand. Like how you find rules sometimes confusing. Is that what she is like with you?”

“Mum doesn’t talk much,” Samson said.

“Is your father easier to talk to?”

Samson replied, “No.” Then after another pause, “My mother really likes the Chantry.”

“Yes. I understood that much,” Ser Lucas said.

“She talks better with other people so I listen sometimes.”

“Is that what you meant about what I told you not to do on your first day?’

“No.” Samson said. “I know my mother’s voice from… other stuff.”

“Never mind about that. I just wanted to tell you. I’m going to ask my boss what to do next. Your dad is a busy man. From what your mum told me it might take weeks until he replies. I don’t want you to fall behind, but if it's any consolation you’re doing a very good job with the footwork.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Samson said, acting like he knew what ‘consolation’ meant. “I want to be the best at everything.”

“Bailey really likes learning writing from you,” Ser Lucas said. “It’s a proud moment when the pairings of roommates go well. One of the other groups has had a few swaps already.”

Samson smiled.

Ser Lucas didn't talk to him about his parents for a long time after that. Samson was pleased that the subject was dropped. To a child, such images of complexity quickly dissipate, like cracked autumn leaves into the soil. 

To a budding adolescent mind, that same image becomes a dreaded omen, a disease to purge. 

* * *

One evening Samson couldn't find Bailey anywhere, and worried his roommate didn't want to be a Templar anymore because ‘foot dancing practice’ was so boring.

He dashed to Ser Lucas’s office after supper time, his heart racing. 

‘Where did Initiate Bailey go?”

Ser Lucas was reading, but he stopped reading to listen.

“He did not go far. He’ll explain when he  gets back.” 

“Where did he go?”

Ser Lucas frowned. “I am not allowed to say. Are you alright?”

“I don’t want Bailey to be gone.”

“Go talk to your other brothers and sisters, Samson,” Ser Lucas said, “or you can sit with me while I eat if it makes it easier.’

Samson looked at the vegetables and beef in a bowl next to Ser Lucas’s tea. He sat on a chair by Ser Lucas’s request.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Reasonably. My sister wants me to take care of her two year old while she travels to Antiva City for a holiday. I can’t decide if I want to.”

“Do you not like babies?” Samson said.

“A two year old is hardly a baby.”

“Yes it is,” Samson said.

Ser Lucas sighed. “Rae is hmm… she is… well, she’s two.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“She’s like Demelza but more explosive,” Ser Lucas said.

“Say no then,” Samson said.

“I  _ can _ do it. I don’t have anything better to do,” The trainer ventured. “It will only exhaust me.”

“Do I exhaust you?”

Ser Lucas paused. “At times. But in a good sense.”

“But your sister’s baby doesn’t tire you in a good way?”

The trainer seemed intrigued by this. “You’re right. It could be absolutely fine.” There was a gentle rumble of feet from outside the office, “Thank you.”

The gratitude seemed misplaced. Samson didn’t reply.

“Are you homesick?” Ser Lucas said finally.

“No. Why isn’t your sister a Templar?”

“She was never interested,” Ser Lucas said. “She makes jewellery for a living.”

“That’s horrible.” 

Ser Lucas laughed at this, but didn’t explain what was funny about it.

* * *

 

Bailey did return later, much later. Samson had been practicing his writing and footwork in an effort to not fall asleep. Bailey opened the door as slowly as he could. The iron door still made a racket.

“House Witherstalk wants an explanation for your lateness,” Samson muttered in an undertone.

Bailey stopped moving before opening the door the rest of the way. “I thought you would have gone to sleep!”

“What kind of brother would do that?” Samson asked.  “House Witherstalk was missing a Knight.”

Bailey sighed. His eyelids were drooping slightly and he was wearing his expensive clothes. A satchel was also around his shoulder. 

As the door screeched shut Samson lurched to grab onto the handle before it closed with a bang loud enough to wake the whole corridor.  He grabbed it just in time and softened the noise.

“Thank you,” Bailey said. “Sorry. I am so tired.”

“Yeah,” Samson said. Once the door was firmly closed, Bailey sat down on his bed, lowered his satchel to the floor and started to unlace his boots.

“Where were you the whole time?”

Bailey looked guilty. “You can’t tell. Also, you will get mad.”

“I won’t tell,” Samson said. 

Bailey nervously avoided Samson’s eye until he removed one boot.

“I went to visit my parents house for dinner.”

“What?!” Samson gasped. “I thought we weren't allowed!”

“I thought so too,” Bailey said in a hushed undertone. “Mum and dad said they missed me so they were going to talk to the Templars about it. Ser Lucas said they were allowed because they paid money.”

“That’s not fair,” Samson said, despite knowing he didn't miss his parents.

“I know. Ser Lucas told me so too. That's why I am not supposed to tell anyone.”

“You told me,” Samson said.

“I trust you not to say,” Bailey said.

“I wished you told me before you went. I thought you had left forever.”

“Sorry. I wanted to try keep it secret as long as I could.”

“It’s still secret. It's just our secret.”

Bailey smiled.

“How was your house?”

“I got to see Mr Fluffy. I missed him. Parents were good. I almost forgot.”

Bailey rummaged through his bag and removed some tunics, earthy coloured jumpers and trousers. He put them in a neat pile, then held them out.

“These are some of my old clothes. They're not my favorite and I don't wear them much, but I thought you might like them if it gets too cold.”

Samson beamed and took them. They looked brand new. “That’s the nicest present. Thank you, brother.”

Bailey went slightly pink. “You are welcome. Also, I don’t know if you want to but maybe next time you can meet my family.”

“What do you mean?”

“They want to meet you.”

Samson gaped. “But I am from Lowtown. They don't like me.”

“I don’t know about that. I told them lots of fun stories and they said they want to meet my new friend.”

“Alright. Maybe,” Samson said with a smile.

* * *

One morning after the Chantry service Samson was bewildered to see a familiar face run up to him.

“Samson,” she said. 

“Yes, madam?” he replied automatically, the manners committed to memory.

Madalyn was there, in a tunic that looked too big for her and a long skirt. Her eyes were red and her face was damp with tears. She had a large bag on her back.

“Can I go with you for a while?”

“I don’t know. Why?” Samson asked. Bailey was closely watching. 

“I don’t want to be at home,” she said. “Please help.”

Madalyn never asked for his help, so it must be serious. Unsure of himself, Samson turned to Bailey. He would know what to do. 

“She’s my friend from outside here, named Madalyn. I want to help her.”

Bailey nodded with a look of determination and understanding in his eyes.

“I will ask our teacher,” he said to both Madalyn and Samson.

He moved to the front of the crowd while Samson stayed back with Madalyn and waited.

“Is your teacher mean?” Madalyn whispered.

“No,” Samson said. “Even when I got in trouble, he wasn't mean.”

His friend nodded; she didn’t seem filled with much confidence.

Bailey came back but without Ser Lucas. “He said he has to teach but you can wait in Ser Lucas’s office until lunch.” He handed Samson the keys. “I am going to get to class so I can tell you about it later. Ser Lucas said if anyone asks, you are giving Madalyn quiet time before her parents pick her up, but we won't figure out what to really do until after lunch. It's just so Ser Lucas doesn't get into trouble.”

“Thank you very much, brother,” Samson said. Bailey vanished before any additional sentiments could be added.

He had been in Ser Lucas’s office enough times to know where it was. He tugged Madalyn’s arm. “Let’s go.”

They didn't speak a word until they had left the Chantry and were headed to the domus.

“Did something really bad happen at your house?” Samson asked.

“My mum and dad told me yesterday that if I don't try harder to be a proper lady and learn sewing that they will sell me to clean and cook for someone else I will hate even more.”

“That’s horrible!” Samson exclaimed as they marched across the grass. “Did they mean it?”

“I don’t know,” Madalyn said, fighting to keep the tears out of her eyes. “I said it didn't make any difference because I wasn't happy anyhow.” She sniffed. “They said that the Maker made me a girl for a reason and so I should accept what the Maker wants. I said, ‘Then I don't want to be a stupid girl.’ Mum and dad said that you, Kenneth and Tyler were bad influences on me for playing ‘rough boy games’ with me. I said that Andraste was a war leader. Why can't I be?’ They said training to fight was too expensive, so I asked about you, Kenneth and Tyler, because we all lived outside Hightown.”

“Good thinking,” Samson said.

Madalyn looked remorseful. “They told me all your parents broke the law to get the money so you could train to be Templars.”

Samson found this confusing. “My mum is too nice to break the law. Same with Kenneth and Tyler’s parents.”

“I don’t think my parents were lying,” Madalyn said, “Even if they aren't, I still think they are mean for not letting me go to the Chantry with you. If you prove yourself as a Templar no one cares where…”

Samson cut her off as they entered the domus. They had to explain to one teacher the false story before going in Ser Lucas’s office. 

Madalyn seemed excited to be in a teacher’s room. She skidded across the rug, but because it was stuck in place by the desk, she nearly tripped over and sat down on the rug instead. Samson did too.

“What did our parents do to get the money?” he muttered, trying not to be overheard.

“Mum and dad wouldn't say. Mum said I am ‘too young’ and dad said too much had been said already.”

“We are old enough to know the truth,” Samson retorted. “They are idiots.”

“I know,” Madalyn said, “that’s what I told them.”

“I don’t think the Chantry would have let me or the others in if our parents broke the law.”

“Mummy said it is like buying bread from the baker. He doesn’t ask where the money is from. He just takes it and gives you bread.”

Samson scratched his head. “But I thought school would be different. I thought they would care.”

“Maybe they don't know. Maybe the Chantry didn't ask,” Madalyn suggested. 

Samson sighed. He certainly didn't want to find out if the Chantry knew or not. He didn't want to think about it. “What happened when you told your parents they are stupid for keeping information from us?”

“I yelled really loud that they couldn't sell me if I ran away first. I slept that night to make them think I was lying but ran away this morning.”  She gestured to the bag. “Do you know where I could live?”

Samson was stunned. “No, but… are you really going to run away?”

“Yes.”

In that moment he recalled mucking around with her, Tyler and Kenneth in the Chantry, pretending they were sword fighters killing demons. They had just been playing. They didn’t know too much about each other beyond general likes, dislikes and family members, though the thought of her not ever waving at him while at a Chantry service saddened him. Maybe once he was a Templar, it would be harder to find where she was. 

“No,” Samson said, “You can’t.” 

“But I want to. Otherwise my parents will find me.” 

“But we… me, and the rest of the group, we will miss you,” he finished, slightly embarrassed. 

“I already miss all of you.” 

Madalyn didn’t act like all the girls he knew. She made fun of serious things, and turned the mundane into games. She didn’t care about getting dirt on her, whether her hair was brushed, or getting bruises from a pretend fight. When Madalyn was serious about something, like she was right now, Samson knew she meant what she said. He hadn’t ever heard her sound so miserable in the years he had known her.  

It wasn’t right. 

In his childlike mind, Samson couldn’t figure out how to answer her at all. He missed Madalyn, Kenneth and Tyler, though there was always the assurance that he would see them at some point in the future. He had a new friend, Bailey, and plenty to keep him occupied. Joining the Chantry was the best thing to ever happen to him. Never before had he had so much to do and even if it was boring, it was still different from what would happen at home. Madalyn didn’t have that. She was seeing neighbours she hated, doing chores that she didn’t like… Samson couldn’t imagine how horrible it must be. 

He knew in his heart that she had to leave. 

“Yeah,” he said slowly. 

“But that’s not important,” Madalyn said, briskly, “Tell me about the Chantry.”

They talked more than they ever had before and never seemed to run out of things to talk about. She wanted to know everything about everything, like what colour the ink he wrote it was, and what shape the ink pot was, whether the classrooms were ugly, whether the chairs were wobbly… And Samson was happy to provide her all this detail. Every detail made her all the more excited to know more. 

She also agreed that ‘foot dancing practice’ was poo. 

Madalyn started going through Ser Lucas’s drawers and giving Samson papers to read, though he put them back without fail, one after the other, as if he was proof reading or checking them.

“You have all this power to read and you won't use it?” Madalyn asked, incredulous, her sandals dangling over the edge of the desk.

“I don’t want to get in trouble,” Samson said, for once shorter than her because his feet were on the floor. “I’ve already gotten in trouble enough times. If I do anything else, Ser Lucas will start saying I am a snitch.”

“He will  _ not _ !” Madalyn countered.

“It’s not like playing in the Chantry,” Samson said, “I have to do what I am told if I am going to be a Templar.”

“You  _ will be _ a Templar,” Madalyn said.

“How do you know?”

“You’re acting like a grown up. It's soooo annoying.”

Samson couldn't help but smile broadly at the knowing twinkle in his friend’s eyes. Her grin displayed her slightly crooked teeth in full glory. 

Ser Lucas entered his office shortly after. Madalyn slipped off the desk and onto a chair. 

“Thank you for waiting,” he said. “Madalyn, is that right?”

Madalyn nodded vigorously.

“Samson, I am going to speak to Madalyn on her own. If you could go with Bailey, there’s classwork to catch up on.”

Samson peered into Madalyn’s fearful eyes before turning to Bailey, who had poked his head through the slightly open door. “Will I get to see Madalyn afterwards?”

“No, I suspect not,” Ser Lucas said. “She’s not supposed to be here in the first place.”

An unbidden wave of emotion burst forth. “What if I never see her again?”

“I am sure you will, Samson,” Ser Lucas said, wearily. “Kirkwall is not as big as it may seem to you kids. Now please go.”

Madalyn gave an angry tug of her hair. “Yeah! Go Samson!”

That was the encouragement he needed to step out the door. Once it shut, Bailey pulled him away so they were no longer in earshot. The two boys stood next to a bookcase to get out of the way of other staff members who were walking here and there. 

“Let’s get food and I can show you my notes. Demelza is saying you got yourself into trouble again.”

“I don’t CARE about her snotty mouth.”

“Shh,” Bailey hushed him. “I don’t think the way you have been acting is going to make you more friends.”

“What is the matter with you, brother? I was trying to help my friend.” The pause was almost too convenient. “Don't tell me you care about what they think.”

Bailey looked embarrassed. “I don’t like attention and you do. I don't want everyone looking at me or saying mean things about me because of you.”

Samson felt angry now. “If that is true, then ask for a room change.”

“No,” Bailey retorted. 

“What should I do then? I am not going to stop standing up for my friends,” Samson said grimly. “Maybe that’s something that you should try for once.”

Bailey went red. “I will have you know I  _ did  _ stand up for you. That's what made Demelza so angry. Everyone is thinking bad things about  _ me  _ now.”

He looked like he was trying not to cry.

“They’re wrong, brother,” Samson assured him. “You’re a good person.”

“It’s hard to think that when people are saying terrible lies and wrongly guessing what the problem is.”

“Yeah. But in the end you stood up for me and you came here, not over there,” Samson pointed out.

“It’s not fair!” Bailey shouted. “They’re thinking things about me that aren’t true.... for no reason!” 

Samson sighed. “Urg. That’s what everyone from Lowtown and Darktown has had to listen to.”

“What are you talking about?” Bailey demanded. He appeared confused before his expression turned to dread. “But… what they say is not even close to the truth or the whole story. They take one detail and try to make it sound like the whole world.”

Samson nudged Bailey. “Yeah. Now you know what it is like.” 

“I don’t like it!” 

The boys waited until the echo of their voices disappeared before trying to hear what was happening through the door. Movement could be heard. 

The door opened. Ser Lucas was guiding Madalyn forward with a hand on the back of her bag, holding a folded piece of parchment in that hand. Her face was wet with tears again, and she looked distraught. 

“Madalyn!’ Samson exclaimed. He edged closer to them. “Is everything okay?” 

To his shock, Madalyn punched Samson’s shoulder as she passed. For a split second, he saw fury in her eyes. 

“What the shambles was that for?” he blurted out. 

“ _ No. No one i _ s asking any more questions,” Ser Lucas said firmly. “Everybody, myself included, have work to do. Go do revision with Bailey.” 

Samson and Bailey kept walking in line with them.

“What about later?” Samson demanded. 

“I… don’t know,” Ser Lucas said, shortly. “I don’t have the energy to think about it right now. Leave us be.” 

“Madalyn would want….” 

“Shut up, Samson!” Bailey cut across him. “We will go study right away, Ser Lucas.” 

Before Samson could protest, Bailey grabbed Samson’s sleeve and tugged him in the direction out of the building. 

* * *

Once they had made it to the lush grass and were headed toward the insula, Bailey looked livid.

“Are you crazy? What were you  _ thinking _ ?” he accused. 

“I wanted to help Madalyn,’ Samson said. 

“Ser Lucas was getting angry,” Bailey complained. “Couldn’t you see?’

“I was a little distracted by the fact one of my friends, I don’t know, PUNCHED me!” Samson argued. 

‘Really?” Bailey’s face fell. “I didn’t see that.’ 

‘She did it secretly, while she walked past me,” Samson clarified. 

‘I thought she only bumped into you.”

‘She did this,” Samson said, and he mimicked the behaviour, only giving Bailey a light punch as he passed to illustrate.  

“That’s bizarre,” Bailey said, “Still, Ser Lucas was getting really mad. You shouldn’t have kept talking to him.” 

“Too late now,” Samson said. He was not in the head space to study. “Do you think we can find out what happened?”

“If we’re going to,” Bailey said slowly, “Ser Lucas will only tell us once he has had a rest and you have caught up on study.” 

Samson sighed. 

“If a teacher does something nice for us, we can’t make them mad,” Bailey said, “Ser Lucas did something he wasn’t supposed to do, and so we can’t do whatever we want once that happens.” 

“How do you know he went against the rules?”

“It’s obvious,” Bailey said, “He told us that if a teacher saw us with Madalyn, that we were to tell them that she was waiting for her parents. Teachers aren’t supposed to do that, same as how we are not supposed to lie. He  _ lied  _ to help her-- to help you, Samson, and you should say thank you next time you see him.” 

“I will,” Samson said. “It was good of you to tell me, brother.”

“It was good of you to listen,” Bailey retorted. “Why do you think your friend punched you?”

“I don’t know. Something bad might have happened.”

“If she had gotten into trouble, why did Ser Lucas say he would help us?”

“I don’t know.”

He was so tired of thinking about it that he was pleased to focus on study instead. 

* * *

Samson kept to himself of much of that afternoon and only chatted to his classmates at dinner. It was tempting to speak to Kenneth and Tyler about Madalyn, but if he did, he wouldn't be sure what to tell them.

Bailey nudged Samson and he looked around. Ser Lucas was eating his dinner with other instructors. Maybe that meant he didn't have as much work to do. That was good.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Samson hissed.

“Why not?” Bailey asked. “if you say thank you for earlier…”

“What if something bad happened to Madalyn?” Samson asked. “Then it's my fault. I asked him to help and he didn't.”

Bailey went quiet until he had almost finished his stew. “Let’s pretend it was bad. Maybe you can apologize to her once you figure out what happened.”

“I guess,” Samson reluctantly agreed. “Okay, so I should say sorry for trying to talk when he didn't want to and I should say thank you for his help? Anything else?”

“That’s all,” Bailey said.

“But I shouldn't say thank you if he did something bad. He should tell me what happened first.”

“No. Trust me, Samson,” Bailey urged him. “My father says if you make someone mad, you say sorry for what you did, and thank you for what nice things they did. My father solves a lot of problems that way.”

Samson screwed up his face. “I will do it after he has finished eating, but if it doesn't work I am never listening to your father's advice again.”

“Alright,” Bailey agreed. “I am just saying… I would only give my father's advice if I thought it was useful.”

“Okay.”

Despite intending to speak to his teacher sooner rather than later, he didn't talk to Ser Lucas about it until the next day.


	6. Why are adults so tall?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you JayRain for the beta. 
> 
> From here on there will be some time skipping so hopefully it will all come together in the end. It might end up being 12 chapters overall but I will see how I go. This section ended up being longer than I anticipated. 
> 
> I hope readers are enjoying it.

Never before had Samson dreaded climbing out of bed in his room. Bailey easily won the race to get dressed.

Now in his initiate clothes, Bailey grasped one of Samson’s ankles and pulled him over the side of the bed. Gradually the bed covers followed with it. “Stop!” Samson squealed, kicking his legs like a flailing animal. The morning wave of older students doing vocal warm ups had long since passed them. 

“Nasty demon!” Bailey cursed, letting go of him. “House Witherstalk will not tolerate this impertinence!”

Samson closed the remaining space between his feet and the floor. “Not stand for what?”

“I am not sure. My mother said it meant I was bothering her,” Bailey said, ashamed. He danced on the spot in trepidation. “Sorry, brother. I can't wait for you to get ready any longer!” He sprinted out the door. 

For some reason that was enough for Samson to follow. He jumped out of bed and reached out for the handle to stop the door slamming. “No!” he groaned as the door clanged shut.  It probably woke up initiates who were on either side of them.

_ Idiot _ , he told himself,  _ I can't be late for the Chantry service or I will be in more trouble _ . 

After getting dressed and running out he couldn’t initially determine why his feet were so cold. Upon looking down half way down the corridor, it became apparent that he had forgotten to put on his shoes.

Samson punched the air in annoyance before retreating to his room.

* * *

 

As the initiate entered the Chantry he kept his gaze low. Seeing nothing but the floor made him stumble when figuring out where he or his destination was. He didn’t want to look anyone in the eye in case his teacher looked back. Impatient muttering rose from the crowd as he walked into the rows of seating and bashed his arm. Awkwardly he sat on the edge of the row and felt colour in his face as his stomach rumbled. Missing breakfast was a necessary torture.

“Sorry chair for bumping into you,” he whispered aloud. “And I am sorry for making noise.”

_ Don’t talk to the furniture _ . The reminder floated in his brain in Lucas’ voice. But that wouldn't do when he suddenly really  _ wanted _ to talk to the furniture. How crazy. 

He curled his fingers over the seat and kept staring at his knees. By the silence it seemed he had missed the songs and they were now giving their thanks to the Maker. He took a steady breath and closed his eyes. He wasn’t even certain which classmate was next to him. 

_ I am sorry again for hurting you, chair. I bet people do that all the time. _

_ Not really _ , he imagined the chair would say.  _ I like having people sit on me. Except when they pass wind. _

Samson smirked and tried really hard not to giggle. It was difficult to think of anything to thank the Maker for that morning. So he thanked the Maker that chairs had been invented.

* * *

 

Whilst crossing the grass to the domus, Bailey fell in step  beside  him. “Is something the matter with your eyes?”

“No. Why?”

“You keep walking off to the left.”

“I don’t want to look at the teacher,” he murmured under his breath.

“Is this about yesterday?” 

“Yeah.”

“Talk to him, brother,” Bailey said, closer now. “Or I can and then I can tell you what he says.”

“No!” Samson protested, walking quicker, as if this demonstrated his resolve. His roommate merely copied to maintain their distance apart. “That is what a coward would do.”

“Why are you so scared anyway?”

“I am not,” Samson said. But to be honest he wasn’t sure what he felt. 

Bailey nudged him in the back. “I will make you if you…”

“Later I will talk to him. Promise, brother.”

Bailey groaned. “You said that yesterday.”

That was enough. “You are the one that is scared!” Samson shouted.

“Am not!” Bailey shot back.

Somehow Samson didn’t believe. He had never been so bothered by Bailey, even more so than when he had arrived. So Samson looked away.

* * *

The list of people he avoided eye contact with increased as morning class went by. It became difficult to do when Samson was asked to read an excerpt of the Chant, Canticle of Andraste 1. Ignoring his instinct to look up for feedback he kept his head low and listened instead.

He didn't know why he expected to get in trouble but Ser Lucas said, “Good effort. I didn't expect anyone to pronounce this correctly on the first try. We will learn some of the more unusual pronunciations now. Who would like to guess what those parts are?”

Samson admitted to himself that Bailey was right. He should get the talk over and done with, as much as he hated it. He waited until lunch was almost over because he didn't want to visit inside the office. Bailey and some other children played tug of war and variations of the Mages vs Templars game in a designated area outside. Lucas was cleaning the classroom and rearranging chairs. His teacher seemed overbearing and daunting in spite of the menial task.

“Hello again, Samson,” he said. 

“Ser Lucas,” Samson said, tentatively, looking at one of the chairs. “I am sorry for causing trouble yesterday and making you mad.”

“No. I am sorry that I lost my patience,” Ser Lucas said. “I… was under stress.”

“Thank you for…” Samson hesitated, “letting Madalyn stay for a little while.”

“It does not happen every day,” Ser Lucas considered, “But offices are good places to hide.”

“I…” Samson gulped. “I want to know… Err… What happened to… her?”

“Your friend?” Lucas wiped some chalk off a board with a wet rag. “I am unsure how to explain it.”

“Why's that?”

“It’s… No. To be frank, I have rehearsed what to say.”

“Then what's wrong?”

“I hope it will make sense to you.”

Samson pondered this. It was true that many things didn't make sense to him, but they always did once Ser Lucas took the time to explain. “I will ask questions if I don't understand, Ser Lucas.”

The instructor laughed. “In that case…” He leaned against the nearest tiny desk and waited for Samson to stand on the other side. “Because I am a teacher with the Circle there are some things I am not supposed to ever do. Otherwise I will lose my job. There are other rules we have about what to do when something happens.”

Samson nodded to show he understood. Still, he had no idea where the explanation was going. 

“Madalyn told me she wanted to find somewhere else to live, that she’d fled her home. Is that what she told you?”

“Yeah.”

“I told her that while I agreed it was hideously unfair, that I couldn't help her that day. I could give her advice so she could help herself tomorrow.”

Samson didn’t get it. “What do you mean, Ser?” 

“I brought her to the Chantry  and another Templar wrote to her parents about where she was so they could bring her home. She was minded by Templars so she couldn't leave until her parents arrived.”

“WHAT?!” Samson shouted. “That’s...” He wanted to insult Ser Lucas but settled with, “Madalyn would have hated that!”No wonder Madalyn had punched him. He was lucky not to have been tackled to the floor and beaten up. Heart racing, he tried to keep his breath steady.

“It was something that I had to do, Samson, because of my job.”

“No, you didn't have to. You could have told her where to escape!”

“No, I couldn't have.” Ser Lucas gave a laboured sigh. “Otherwise the Guard would have found out, or someone here, and I would not be your teacher anymore. It is important to follow duty and expectation.”

Finally the consequences were starting to sink in. Not having Ser Lucas as a teacher would be bad. 

“If you couldn't be a teacher anymore, then what would happen?” Samson asked. “Couldn't you be a teacher of another class?”

“Jobs don't work that way, which is sad. There are not many teaching jobs in the Circle. I know many Templars want to do it. Someone else will take my position in a heartbeat. To complicate things, I would have to wait a very long time until I would be considered again. The Knight Commander does not smile upon those who break the rules.”

“What if Madalyn’s parents had been blood mages?” Samson asked. “Would you have sent Madalyn to her parents then?”

“That…” Ser Lucas grinned a little, like he found it funny. “is very unlikely to happen.”

“But…” Samson couldn't figure out how to explain what he meant. He stamped his foot and whined.

“The rules would be different in that case, I guess. I am sorry about your friend,” Ser Lucas repeated.

Irritated and betrayed, Samson took a few moments to gather his thoughts. There was a knock on the door.

“In five minutes, thank you,” Ser Lucas called. 

“Yes, no problem,” replied the voice of another teacher through the door. 

Ser Lucas beckoned Samson closer. 

“Why did you say that you would help when you didn't?” Samson groused.

Their voices were lower now. 

“I wanted to know the full story before sending her on her way. I did what I could to help.”

“Like what?”

“That as much as Madalyn hates it, one way of receiving training to be a Knight is to reside at a Noble’s estate; to mind and tend to it. Once Madalyn has gained the Noble’s trust, she can begin more practical aspects of her training under his guidance.”

“That’s like our manners practice, isn’t it, Ser?”

“That’s right. The Circle borrowed most of its training from the Knights.”

“Does that mean that Madalyn will become a Knight?” Samson wondered aloud. He felt less annoyed, but still uncertain.

“That depends on Madalyn now,” Ser Lucas said. “Sadly, many Nobles do not accept girls into their ranks. Unlike the Guard and Templars; our armies are rather archaic and traditional,” Lucas explained.. I happen to know two Nobles who do train girls. I wrote a letter for one of them, in Kirkwall, recommending Madalyn for training and told her what to do in order to stay in hiding from her parents, if she wants. It is up to her if she follows my advice.”

“She will. I know it,” Samson said, filled with new determination.

Ser Lucas gave a careworn smile. “She was furious that her days of cleaning and helping around a house were not over.”

“She’ll cheer up and do it,” Samson said.

“I advised her to obscure her appearance, again, if she wants to cease contact from her parents. My guess is with the guidance of a Noble that she will be well disguised without much effort. The next time you see her, I would be surprised if you recognized her.”

“Shambles,” Samson said. It was a lot of information to take in. “I don’t know when I will see her again.”

“My guess would be… hmm… when you are around sixteen years old.”

“What?!” That was a whole Age away. He couldn't picture it. Sixteen year olds were just so different to six year olds. Taller, bigger, scarier… They talked about things Samson didn’t understand and had bigger muscles, deeper voices. It was intimidating to think that one day he would seem scary and big to boys and girls like him.

“It’s a long time, yes,” Ser Lucas said. “Keep in mind that she will have to do much of the same training as you. And…”

The door knocked again. The voices of Samson’s classmates were on the other side of the door. 

“In a moment!” Ser Lucas called. Now he spoke faster, “Samson, just so you know,  I recommended Madalyn adopt a different first name if she completed her training.”

“What?” Samson whispered.

“I don’t know. You might find out. Do not tell anyone what arrangements I made or I will be in strife.”

Rushed, Samson was ushered out the door. He gestured holding his palm over his mouth to say that he would keep a secret. “T-Thank you for telling me, Ser,” he stuttered, just as the guests and other students stormed in from the doorway. As Samson headed for his seat, he tried to imagine what a sixteen year old Madalyn would look like and didn’t have an inkling, besides the fact she would be taller. Bailey nudged him in a tentative way from his left and Samson returned it more confidently with a smile.

“Did you find out what happened?” Bailey whispered under his breath when there was a break between exercises and everyone else blabbed.

“Yeah,” Samson said. He thought about just how much he could say. “Madalyn is going to be okay.”

“That is reassuring,” Bailey said. “Are you going to tell your other friends?”

“Some of it,” Samson replied. “We need to do homework so I will find them at supper time.”

* * *

“Madalyn talked to me at the Chantry,” he said. The roommates on either side of his friends happily chatted away to those next to them. Samson was happy to stand. He hadn’t eaten much anyway.

“We see her sometimes too,” Tyler said.

“Yeah. What did she say?”

“She said her parents told her our parents had gotten the money for us to get here against the law. That's why Madalyn isn't in the Gallows.”

His friends looked surprised, then confused. 

“Are you sure?” Tyler asked.

“Her parents could have made it up,” Kenneth said. “Because they are being cruel.”

“I don’t think they were lying,” Samson said, “even though I don't get what it means.”

His friends looked uncomfortable, as though they had spotted a venomous spider in the corner of the room. 

“I don’t like the sound of it,” Kenneth muttered uneasily.

“Kenneth is right. Let’s talk about something else,” Tyler agreed.

Despite having questions Samson had to admit he didn’t like the direction that all this information was going either. What mattered was that Madalyn was safe and he had his friends. 

* * *

“Lovely. Just lovely to meet you,” Bailey’s mother said, “and wearing my darling’s clothes as well. They look very smart.”

Samson smiled awkwardly from the big chair. Bailey went bright red next to him. His roommate’s house had such a high ceiling it could have been their rooms in the insula. Their table was decorated with a dark cloth, candle and a vase with no flowers in it. Bailey’s mother had a pointed chin, wore a necklace with a coloured gem on it and had wavy hair that she kept up with a headdress. She smoked an extravagant coal coloured pipe… which, no doubt, made her smell of burning flowers. 

“How long have you lived in Kirkwall?” Bailey’s dad asked. He had muscly arms and legs in spite of having a tad of a belly but he was dressed nicely. 

“Since I was born,” Samson replied. “My mother and father are the same.”

“All Lowtown?” Bailey’s mother said with an exhalation of her pipe. “You skinny sweetheart. Does that mean that you have never had gingered brie tart?”

Samson shook his head. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about.

“We will give you some to try,” Bailey’s mum said with a bright grin. 

Bailey simply sat there and absorbed every word.

“Dear, you are confusing him,” Bailey’s dad told his wife. Then to Samson, “It’s a dessert.”

Feeling stupid from saying nothing, Samson replied, “Yes, sir.”

Bailey’s mother and father chortled.

“Look at that,” Bailey’s mother said. “They teach you well at the Chantry, don't they?”

“You're the most polite boy I have met from Lowtown,” Bailey’s dad said. “A lot of them haven't been taught manners properly.”

“I have,” Samson said. “We did our etiquette exam the other day.”

“Yes we did, mother,” Bailey said.

“Delightful. Was that at your Tevinter ruin?” his dad asked.

Was that his name for the insula? Bailey looked like he wanted to grumble but didn't. He shook his head. 

“No. It was at a Lord and Lady’s estate,” Samson took over, “We had to serve them, the table, everything. It was a lot to remember.”

Bailey’s mother flattened a crease in the tablecloth. “I desperately hope Bailey didn’t think it was a lot to remember. I have told him a dozen times how to address the neighbors.”

“I did well,” Bailey said. “The trainer said so.”

“That’s a surprise,” Bailey’s dad said. “How did you do compared to Samson?”

“Good,” Bailey said. “Actually he did better than me on that exam. I beat him in the reading one.”

Samson nudged Bailey under the table. He didn’t know why but he didn't like this conversation topic. He added, “We both study together, madam.”

“That’s cute that you work together. I did that at University… Until my friend cheated.”

“We don’t cheat,” Samson said.

“Yeah. Ser Lucas said we make a great team,” Bailey attested.

“Understood, my boy. No need to get flustered,” his father said.

Samson went quiet as Bailey did.

“Your parents must have gone broke getting you into the Chantry,” Bailey’s mother said.

Not this again. Now Bailey nudged Samson from under the table. “I don’t think so,” Samson said.

“Have you heard from her?”

“No.”

“What a shame. Your mother must be starving. What is her name? Perhaps we can invite her for supper and tea.”

“Err… Andrea.”

“What is your family name?”

“Samson.”

“Indeed?” Though Bailey’s mum didn't look like she understood. She gave Bailey a look.

“Andrea. Andrea, Andrea… That sounds familiar. What does she do?” Bailey’s dad asked, eyes wide with interest.

“She is in the Chantry,” Bailey answered for him.

“Yes! No wonder.” The dad looked triumphant, like he had found the answer to a word puzzle. “She is one of the Lay Sisters. Remember, dear? She was cleaning a few days ago.”

“Goodness gracious me. So she was. What a diligent worker. She is so young,” Bailey’s mum said. “She must have made her mother and father very proud to have you.”

“I have never met my grandparents,” Samson said.

“Right. Do they live abroad?” Bailey’s dad inquired.

“Live… _ A board _ ?” Samson repeated, confused. 

“Across the sea,” Bailey explained. . 

“Maybe,” Samson said. “Mum and Dad said they don’t visit us because they are too far away.”

“I suppose hard workers don’t run through every generation,” Bailey’s mother said, puffing at her pipe again.

“Bailey, stop that face,” his father scolded. 

Silence fell. Samson looked at Bailey. If he had looked angry he didn't anymore. 

“What exams are left for the year?” Bailey’s father asked.

No matter what they wouldn’t bring up the fact Bailey had to redo his history test. Samson had just scraped by. He had gained points on Chant knowledge. He had recommended to Bailey that he should try learn by putting the history into songs. Just like the songs they learned at the Chantry. Bailey decided to invent rhymes instead.

They ate dinner provided by the one servant. It was stewed pigeon and onion salad. Samson had never tried it before, but it was delicious. Talk revolved around their classmates for a little while. Bailey’s mum was astonished that Demelza was picking on Bailey and Samson, of all people. Bailey’s dad calmed her down from trying to figure out what Demelza’s family name was to trying to stop it. 

“Bailey, we heard that in another two years that you will be allowed to start writing to us. Have you been told that?” His mother asked, eagerly.

“A couple of our classmates asked, so yes, we do know,” Bailey said. 

Father sighed and Bailey’s mother looked morose. 

“I won't be able to see you as often when that happens,” she said, “The Templars got upset we invited you here to start with.”

“It is not allowed, mother,” Bailey said, “It isn’t fair on other initiates.”

“Yes but I am not concerned for them like I am for you,” Bailey’s mum said, “and keeping children away from their parents for so long is lunacy.”

“Your mother misses you,” Bailey’s father said.

All in all meeting Bailey’s parents was nice. They acted so differently from his mum and dad he felt bewildered and uneasy by it, like cats were watching him.

After dinner Bailey’s parents let the two of them have fun. Bailey showed Samson all the rooms in his house. He thought the amount of space probably made Bailey feel like he could fly. Bailey’s cat joined them after they passed the parents’ room and Samson shrieked in terror.

Once Mr Fluffy left, they played a game of pretending to find an escaped Mage in the courtyard, which turned into a kind of murder mystery detective game by accident, once they realised that no one had been assigned the role of Mage. It was fun anyway. They started to chase a spotted rabbit in the garden, claiming that it was holding the Mage hostage in its bunny house, skidding on the grass and getting scratches on their legs from failing to catch it.

Once it hid in a hole, Bailey dashed to the gates separating his manor with the next. He whispered under his breath, “The ruler of the Rabbit Collective lives there.”

“Do you know them, Ser Bailey?” Samson asked in a deep voice. 

“Yes,” Bailey said, ominous, “My next door neighbor has all these yuck drawings of naked girls in his room.”

“Urgh,” Samson said as he winced. 

“Yes, Ser Samson,” Bailey said darkly. “He is an older boy. Seventeen. He is fun to play cards with, but we must be careful. The next time I visit him we will be undercover to figure out what happened to the hostage.”

“Excellent work, Ser Bailey.”

Needless to say when Samson and Bailey went to the neighbor’s house months later they couldn't find the Mage there. As a piece of evidence - or memorabilia of their adventure- they stole one of the drawings of a girl who had at least most of her clothes on. 


End file.
